And then, I grasped my spear and the only thing that mattered to me was seeing Skorr the Unbreakable broken. I charged forward nimbly, with lithe limbs that were all muscle- I was strong as well as agile. My breath came in and out in sharp gasps, and I reveled in the fury, the rage, the power that coursed through me. I raised my spear as Skorr raised his club, and I stabbed through a weak point in the armor, revealing a trickle of blood. I grunted in satisfaction as I ripped it out and dodged to the side just as the club came down were I had been before- my legs had already carried me away a safe distance.
Skorr bellowed in fury, but it was only a minor wound. He was a huge ogre, but none could stand against I- none could stand against the Rageclaw. I laughed in giddy fury as we faced the arena, the crowd of liars, of betters of gamblers of thieves of scoundrels, watching us fight for our lives for their pleasure and their money. They were despicable.
I used the hit and run tactic several more times, the spear in my hands slick with his blood, but as I ran in yet again he swung- and his club connected with my body. The air was knocked out of me as with staggering force he sent my small form crashing into the wall with a sickening crack, where slowly I slid down to the ground.
I lay there, absorbed in pain. I dimly aware I was bleeding, a warm trickle of liquid running from a cut on my temple and dribbling out my nose, and Skorr was coming over to bellow his victory over me. Blood trickled into my eyes, stinging and burning, as I lay there. It felt like several of my rib bones were broken and burning in agony. My breath started to slow, my heart rate dropped, and all movement ceased as I feigned death. Skorr was fooled, bellowing his idiotic triumph. The crowd was going absolutely insane with glee- they all knew that the Rageclaw would not last against Skorr the Unbreakable. I was about to prove them wrong.
I stood slowly now that his back was turned towards me, silently giggling with the rush of pain and adrenaline. The crowd noticed me but Skorr did not and their cheering diminished. Skorr paused, confused by the sudden silence.
Distantly I heard someone shout 'behind you!' but it was too late, and with a bellow of surprise he found a spear protruding from his chest. He staggered, clumsily reaching to try and pull it out as blow flowed from his chest- this lasted for a few moments before he finally came crashing down onto the ground with a thud that nearly knocked me over.
I stood above the corpse, my breath coming in sharp, pained gasped as I blood dripped from my wounds, and I laughed, a heartless, giddy laugh that nearly caused me to collapse. I raised my spear above my head, and I screamed my victory- and it turned into a gasp of surprise as Skorr's corpse fading, changing into a very different scene. The undead lay on the ground, pinned. Erier stood over him, axe raised.
I suddenly felt cold. My broken bones burned and I wheezed for breath as the bloody spear slipped from my hand. I looked around- we were still in the arena, but the crowd had vanished. A low, empty wind blew through the place.
I jumped in sudden surprise as Erier's axe come down and the forsaken's head was separated from his body with a sickening squelch and a spray of ichor. It rolled away from the group, down, landing at my feet, his undead features twisted into an almost... Bored expression.
I quivered with eagerness, wondering what I could possibly do to that head to make him suffer more, because the dead only knew he did not get anywhere near what he deserved-
“Do they even know?” The head asked me, and my thoughts froze as I stared down at it. No longer did it have a bored expression, but instead was looking decidedly smug. I glanced up at the others, only to find that they weren't there. We were alone, Heulyn and I. Or at least, his head and I.
Obviously it was a rhetorical question, because the head kept talking. “You pretend to be nice, pretend to like them, but they don't know, do they? The cold wall that separates you and them. They don't know the anger that lurks within... The killer that drove you to slaughter those two Sentinals... The Rage...” “Shut up!” I shouted, but the head only laughed. “The Rageclaw among the Night Elves, Zavagi among the Orcs! You have quite the black reputation... How much death do you have behind you?” I heard movement behind me, and I looked around, my eyes widening with horror. I turned around, backing away. There behind me were the figures of the two Sentinels I murdered, the countless Orcs and members of other races- humans, dwarves, gnomes... Tauren, trolls, forsaken...
“All by your hand, Rageclaw.” The head grinned, “Aren't you proud?
I could feel myself trembling, but not with horror- with rage. With glee at the prospect of more fighting, more killing. I was horrible... “I am FAR from gone and I am not finished with you or yours.” The phantoms crept closer, and I picked up my spear, backing away, my eyes wide.
“If you hurt any of my friends-” The head cut off my threat with gurgle of sick laughter- I wasn't exactly threatening. “You really think you can do anything to stop me? I did not expect you the first time, and surprise is a powerful weapon indeed, but I know you now, Rageclaw...”
I fought to wake up, as hard as I could, trying to look away form the head.
“Give in.” It whispered almost soothingly. “Loose yourself forever to the rage. Make them fear you.”
I shivered eagerly at his words, but I could feel myself starting to wake up, and I moved towards consciousness with desperation. But as I woke, I heard his last words whisper to me...
“Stop pretending, Rageclaw...”
She sat up in her bed, clutching the blankets as though they were her only link to the waking world, her soulless yellow orbs of eyes open wide as she cautiously looked around.
It was still dark out, her apartment cloaked in darkness with only the moon for lighting, but she knew she would not sleep again. She hardly slept, really. Hardly needed it. But old habits were hard to break.
She slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the floor as she headed down, out of the building. Silvermoon was locked in silence, the usually bustling city eerily quiet. She walked into the Royal Exchange, looking around, half expecting to see Lila snoozing on one of the benches. But there was no one but her, her and the lonely moon that hung above the city. And piss on the moon, piss on the Goddess.
She crouched down on the bench, what was left of her muscles tense as she gazed around, alert. She nearly shat herself when a cat peeked out of the shadows, and she let out a defeated sigh, getting more comfortable on the bench. What was she expecting?
She leaned back, staring up at the stars with her throat exposed all nice like in challenge. Let the damn assassins come if they wanted.
The dreams bothered her. Bothered her a lot- because the head was right. She was pretending. She'd been so pretending so long to be a generally nice person- Fel, she'd thrown herself headfirst in a cause she barely believed in- Peace.
It was stupid for the two factions to be beating each other senseless, of course, but the fact remained that she didn't give a rats a** what happened to them.
If she were still alive, she would say were all that she cared about were her forests. All she'd ever cared about, honestly. But now that she was dead... What did she care about?
Andi, mostly.
But she'd lied to him, too, and the guilt gnawed at her fiercely. She'd told him she turned into a trembling sobbing wreck after battles- and she did, too. But she trembled with barely restrained rage, sobbing to keep the act up, feeling sick from trying to keep the rage locked away all nice and safe like.
She'd kept it up, a good many years, pretendin' she was logical and detested violence and loved peace and all the happy stuff.
But she was started to loose grip on that illusion. It was slowly slipping away, showing the berserker underneath. She wasn't safe and she knew it. She lived in the constant fear of attacking one of her friends, namely Erier. Stupid git didn't understand...
Kinu sighed, running a clawed hang through her recently dyed white hair. She reached down, feeling her cheek where there used to be warpaint. Now there were only stitches going over a cut on her cheek that had healed. She rubbed them absently. She really should see Lhyko sometime to get them out-
No.
It was too dangerous. Every time she'd gone over there she'd come crawling back, injured or beat up emotionally, feeling sick and sorry for herself. She knew going to the Alliance side was a dangerous habit, and one she fully intended to break. Aristal didn't give damn about her. The rest of her friends could manage... Except, except...
Arthaniel.
He was going to Naxxramas. He should be there by now, actually, on his desperate mission to save someone he cared about. What was she doing here?
She stood up, taking a few steps forward, then paused again.
No, no... She couldn't... Yes she could, damnit. It'd be a joke to sneak in there and find him, and then... Then she'd stay with him. Protect him. Help him. Slay the Scourge. He was her old guildmaster, she at least owed him that.
Guild... Kiss of the Betrayer... She paused in walking back towards her apartment. Ishbaneer. Damn it all. If she didn't show up at the meeting he'd come looking for he- she could almost hear his voice... Ye're doing WHAT now, Kinu? Oh no, lass, ye can't go. That lad, well, Light help him, he's doin' what he believes in, but ye can't let him drag ye down-
She shook her head.
She was already down low enough.
She stepped into her apartment, walking over to the desk, grabbing her quill and a piece of parchment.
What should she write? 'Going on a suicide mission to Naxxramas- be back in a couple of days!' ... No. That would never work. Andi or Ishbaneer or someone would find it and they'd put themselves danger to try and find her. She could not- would not allow that to happen.
'I'm going on a trip for a while- ten days, at least. I need to do some thinking. I'll try and be back soon.
Please don't worry.
-Kinu.'
She frowned down at the letter, her quill paused in mid-air and dripping ink onto the parchment. She didn't know why she added that last bit, but it would have to do.
She sprinkled sand onto the letter to keep it from smudging, the shook the excess away. She had no idea who she would send this letter to... Langley? Andi? Ish? In the end, she just left it on the desk. She knew her friends routinely snuck into her apartment, so someone would find it sooner or later.
She walked down towards the stables, only packing some bandages, needle and thread, and some health and mana potions. She saddled Noodle, and was out of the city before sunrise.
I'm coming, Arthaniel.
She may be a raging traitor, but Heulyn was right. She channeled it into protecting those she considered friends, and she felt there wasn't a better way in the whole damn world to do it.
--
She tends to be empathetic, keep her problems to herself, and hold her friends very close to the point of being brink-clingy. (However, she will, eventually, let them go if that's what they want.) She has a fairly high opinion of her skills to judge people, and she can trust her instincts to let her know when something is up. Kinu has a habit of judging people off the bat and will 'trust' a person instantly if she gets the right feeling from them. She is very rarely surprised.
Kinu is a very forgiving person, willing to accept the flaws of others in the face of her own vices. She firmly believes in redemption, and 'just because a person does bad things, it doesn't make them a bad person'.
She will often crack jokes in the face of danger, since it's either 'you make a joke and keep going, or your break down and piss yourself' but she will then become grim and serious when on her own. She's not above acting erratically at times to put her enemies off guard. She can also be rude on occasion, and is not always aware of it, sometimes to her own embarrassment. She is able to rapidly switch between moods, from mania to anger to nonchalance and uses this as a form of reverse psychology on several occasions.
It has been made clear that Kinu is, despite constant interaction with others, a lonely person deep down. Being an undead night elf in the Horde, she gets a constant subtle feeling of not belonging, and she has trouble believing that her friends actually consider her as one of their own.
She's bad at arguing with words and can usually be outwitted, instead preferring to speak with her actions. She's extremely free spirited to the brink of being prideful and cocky, and dislikes taking orders from anyone she thinks doesn't have the right to give her orders. She's got a knack for battle tactics and fighting.
Having 'come out of her shell' a bit more, she tends to be more open and friendly then before, when she could actually be quite cold at times. Despite being a presumably nice person, she can an exhibit an angry, merciless and vengeful streak and be brutal when the situations requires, sometimes acting unmercifully and without hesitation.
Her religious beliefs are rather complex, as she believes in most deities out there (you don't doubt the power that's saved your skin more times then you can count, and she's been saved by most of them at one point or another.).
She's a member of a Church of the Light and most of her friends believe in the Light, though it’s uncertain how faithful she is to it- she seems to hold stronger faith in people themselves, and she puts great stock in the fundamental goodness of people in general and their ability to do the right thing. She has close ties to the Bronze Dragonflight, being a friend of one named Kairos. She shares his belief that 'everything happens for a reason', perhaps more then any of her other beliefs.
Her greatest fear is ending up alone. Along with that, she has a distrust of water (being unable to swim in life, though in undeath it doesn't really matter anymore) and bizarrely enough an extreme dislike of pears. She has a distrust of warlocks, but has met enough decent ones to only be slightly wary of them. She hates the Scourge and the Burning Legion and her hatred of Goblins comes in as a close second.
Athlete – Kinu is physically fit and well muscled, despite being dead. She's strong, fast and quick thinking when it comes to combat.
Fightin' Type – She's been a soldier for almost all her life- at least thirteen thousand years
Friends in low places – Kinu has a habit of attracting less-then-ideal people to her and she doesn't mind a bit. From crazy to wanted for murder, she'll tolerate the presence of almost anyone.
Good Name – Despite having friends in low places, she's managed to make a good name for herself as the 'Peacewalker', fighting for peace between the Horde and the Alliance.
Intimidatin' Manner – She's dangerous, and she looks it. If glares could kill people, she could decapitate a person from across the room.
Leadership – While usually content to let someone else run the show, in a stressful situation Kinu will often take charge.
Mean left hook – Kinu's fingers have been reduced to bone (being undead, this is used to her advantage) her punches hurt like hell.
Military Rank – She was a member of the Sentinel Army for a good long while, then a archer for the Alliance. Lately she's been working as a medic for the Frostwolf Clan in Alterac Valley.
Nature Lover – Despite undeath, Kinu has a love for nature. She gets along well with animals and other folks close to nature.
Two Fisted – Kinu can do things with both her right and left hand, though she favors her left
Religiosity – She has a bunch of faiths, from the Light to Nature Spirits, and she manages to believe in all of them equally
Sharp Sense – Kinu has an acute sense of hearing and sight. Her ability to taste and smell have been lessened somewhat.
Steady Calm – In stressful situations, Kinu will usually remain calm.
Tough as Nails – She can withstand torture, wounds- it'd take a lot to get her to crack.
Trustworthy Gut – Kinu listens to her instincts. They're usually right.
Chip on the Shoulder – Possessed by an Avatar of Vengeance, she can get a mite angry when the possibility of death is very near.
Crude – Kinu was never really raised to be socially eloquent.
Deadly Enemy – Most folks who are against her idea of peace are out to see her dead, since most folks who are against her idea of peace aren't against the idea of murder.
Loyal – Kinu is loyal to the end, to most anyone who earns it.
Memorable – Being an undead night elf, she stands out in the crowd.
Straight Shooter – Kinu tells the truth, and she's usually blunt about it.
Twitchy – Kinu's made a lot of enemies, and while her loyalty is easy to earn, her trust isn't.
Ugly as Sin – Kin isn't the prettiest person out there. She's got a dented nose, scars everywhere, and she's undead.
--
Rough hands, a steady voice that acted as an anchor as he spoke of the forests and the creatures within it, silver eyes that shone with reverence with all that was around him. A woman with the white hair that I had inherited, her luminous silver eyes shining with the grace of Elune. She wore no devout robes of a Priestess, instead simple herders garments, though we were not herders in the human sense of the word. They were good people, they and the other herders, following the great deer of the forest and protecting them from harm. In turn the deer sacrificed themselves for us for our food, our clothing, and our tools although magic could do better; we honored them.
Malfurion may have been the first of the Druids, but my father had a kinship with the land that I have yet to see in another. He loved it dearly- he was humbled by the spider web and the smallest of saplings and he took joy in ever moment he was around them. You could see the same expression on his face when he was with my mother- pure love.
My mother was a hardy woman, adapting well to the life of a herder. She was a hard worker, fierce in her belief of Elune and her desire to protect those she loved. They had two children, my brother and I, and no elf could be as happy as those two. Looking back, I envy their bond. I can only hope to come across love so strong.
Oben- my brother- and I were raised in a unique environment- truly we were closer then others in what we would become, although we could not escape influence. Our cloths were brightly colored, the fabrics and patterns of simple herding attire would be considered vibrant and gaudy by today's standards. Yet we ran with the intelligent hippogryphs, hunted with the Furbolgs, and learned lessons from the other herders. We never went to school. We never learned magic despite my golden eyes that marked me as one destined for greatness. I would trade it for no other- I loved the hippogrpyhs- I played with their children and slept in their nests on occasion. I would play with the furbolgs as well and the ancients that would scoop me up and tell me of tales of old, and the herders that would take me onto their lap and tell me of magic and Elune.
My mother was like an anchor for so many of us- I believe if not for her the three of us (My father and my brother and I) would run off into the forest and never come back. She had such a strong sense of duty and faith, and we loved her for it.
But things cannot always remain as they are, and indeed, everything changed when that fool of a queen and her Highborne brought down the wrath of the demons upon us; I cursed their existence and our foolishness to exile them instead of slaughter for the longest time, though my view has slowly changed.
After the war with the Burning Legion in which both my parents perished, you could say I lost faith. You could say a lot of things of the tiny bedraggled elf with hollow golden eyes and the tall druid that had his arm wrapped around her as though he could protect her from the world.
Not even the blessing of Immortality could stop my anger. My anger at the foolish Highborne, my anger at the demons, my anger at my parents, who I had always thought to be so strong.
Yet time supposedly heals all wounds, and we went back to our daily lives although they were forever changed. Oben sought to heal the land with Druidic magics, and his love of all things that roamed the skies led him to become a Druid of the Talon. I have followed that path as well- to a degree- but it came much later.
I was a Sentinel back then, taking upon the Kal'Dorei role as a guardian of the world with zeal, yet I never revered Elune as my fellow Sentinels did. Why should I, when She had allowed my mother to be torn apart by Felhounds? I was bitter, angry, and the years of the Long Vigilance without my brother's guiding voice took a toll on me that I have only now realized.
I was restless, savage- something was going on in the land that had only just recovered. The only thing I thought good of this matter is that we elves had abandoned our foolishness and paid more attention to nature. I did as well, for my now-dead father's sake. I nearly became part of the forest myself. dwelling among the forests, taking joy in their existence and our immortality.
But even the memory of my peaceful father could not settle the fire that blazed within me at seeing the orcs ravage our beloved forest for timber. Such rage I have never felt for the green-skins, and may I never have to feel such rage again. I murdered them, striking fast and hard and then disappearing back into the forest before they could recover. So savage were my slaughters I was named 'Zavagi' among them- I have learned that it means 'savage' in their language.
My rage increased when I saw one of my fellow Sisters- one of my dearest friends- be buried. I attacked the stone, crying out and cursing existence. The other Sentinels, shocked by my behavior, tried to take me back to our base , but I refused. Then they made the mistake of trying to force me, and I killed them. I had become no better then the orcs, lost in my savageness and grief. 'Rageclaw' seemed a fitting last name for one as myself, 'Zavagi' an even more fitting nickname.
I freely admitted my sins to the Forest Council- I was younger then, foolish, ruthless... Stupid. Oben tried to get me out of it- I was going to be sentenced to death- but he managed to convince them to only exile me.
I had spat at their feet, turned on my heel, and left.
My exiled, admittedly, did not last that long. I had started to head south- towards Tauren lands were I could take refuge but word that the demons had returned to Kalimdor had reached my ears. I returned as soon as I could, swiftly and silently.
I fought like a madman at Hyjal despite the danger from both my own race and the demons- that was were I learned to find company amongst the mortal races who knew not of my crimes. The guerrilla tactics I had perfected against the orcs I now used to protect them- them and anyone else who was fighting the demons. Yet despite all my efforts Nordrassil was killed in the slaying of Archimonde. Mortality rushed over us like a wave of decay, and despite being forgiven for my crimes I could find little joy. I was hit particularly hard by the loss of Nordrassil.
Audric Lithdel Community Member 
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