Post by Mojoworkn
((I would suggest reading the
Prologue and
Part I if you want this to make sense.))
What was hope in the Slums?
Was it my crying? Was it my mother’s necklace that I sold for bread? Was it the dust that rose from the fights in the streets? Did it rest in my heart where loathsome creatures hid? Could it be bought from a store that sells nothing but bones and spoiled talbuk? Did it lurk in the ghastly stare of Yorn? Was it my brother that cried himself to sleep while his sister watched him speechlessly?
Whatever hope was, it never existed in the streets of war-torn Shattrath.
My brother had long since lost the smile that crept over his face at the sight of food. He only chose to devour it hungrily like a savage animal, then raised his head at his sister to plead for more. I never gave him a satisfying answer. I found myself hoarding most of the food, eating it discretely as to not anger an already unstable Eidan. Yet still my appetite was never fulfilled.
Our food was still controlled by the bells; one bell in the morning, one at night, signaling our two feeding times. Bread was thrown at our faces through the metal bars that separated the Slums from the rest of suffering Shattrath. We were animals to the draenei, nothing more.
In the chaos that was feeding time, I remember finding myself slashing at people with a cooking knife that had fallen from the Upper Terrace. I tore gashes in my brethren’s faces, leaving them scarred and bleeding on the ground of the terrace. Thier cold, lifeless bodies were dragged away during the night.
It was an adrenaline rush. The need for blood was overwhelming; someone had to pay for my suffering. I had no remorse; no feelings; only instinct. I was an animal.
Yorn had given up trying to control the chaos caused by the bell. He only stood in silence as he stared at the Broken who screamed, “More bread! More bread!” Yorn never blinked an eye at their demands. All the draenei saw were monsters, monsters who had once been one of their own, but now stood broken and deaf to the Light.
One day, I could not see Yorn through the masses of Broken gathered at the gate. I figured he couldn’t stand the sight of the massacre feeding time had become.
Oh how wrong I was.
~
It was the beginning of a new day. The moans of pain and suffering had replaced the birds that had fallen silent. Smoke from the roaring fires of Auchindoun blocked out the burning midsummer sun, and turned the azure sky in to a sickly black. The crystalline trees of Terokkar were dry and dying, having not seen water in months.
Shattrath had become a battlefield within itself. Not even the denizens of the Upper Terrace had peace of mind. Fights broke out on the street. Crime had become abundant. The once peaceful taverns had become deserted other than the few drunkards that drank away their last silver.
Sometimes I wonder if the draenei were so different from us. We were the same blood, the same monsters. And yet the Light still separated us. If the Light is so holy, why couldn’t it have brought us together? Why couldn’t it have saved us all?
Oh Eidan . . .
One horrible day, my brother shook me awake before the morning bells had sounded. “Sister! Sutha, wake up. The bell is going to ring soon,” he said. Eidan was weak. His voice had become hoarse and dry. Bones jutted from his body where a plump belly should have been. His hair was unkept and dirty. He was no longer my brother, but a disgusting remnant of him.
“Let us hope we get bread,” I said, slowly getting up and sheathing the cooking knife under my clothes. I practiced with it every night in a secluded corner of the Slums. I ripped apart old clothing and crates full of nothing but dust. The knife became dull and discolored, but it never broke. It was a good knife.
When I was prepared for feeding time--I did not need much--Eidan and I poked our beaten heads out of the tent, waiting for the sound of that bell. We waited. And waited. And waited. More heads started to poke out of the tents, sorrow and hunger covering their faces. The bell was late.
Questions started firing in my head. Would the bell sound today? Would we get food? Why aren’t they ringing the bell? Where is the bell? Where are the guards that ring the bell? Bell? Bell? Bell!
“People of Shattrath,” a voice said over a crystal loudspeaker. Heads turned to the section of the Upper Terrace that overlooked the balcony. Standing there, were a plethora of draenei vindicators, along with one stout man that I recognized all too well, Yorn.
“...we have gathered here today in these dark times to remind you all that hope is not lost. The armies of the draenei have repelled the orcs to the surrounding countryside. Shattrath is no longer in immediate danger.”
The Broken’s faces remained stern. Who cared what became of Shattrath? It was a draenei city.
“The victory is a grand one, but we must cure a plague that has been spreading throughout Shattrath, the weak. The weak are preventing us from distributing our supplies thoughtfully. It was only yesterday that we had supplies to last us for months on end, but that time has passed. We barely have enough weapons to arm our soldiers. Medical supplies are running precariously low. And worst of all, our food stores are almost empty.
“Which is why I propose a way to get rid of the weak, in a tournament. The rules of said tournament will be explained in due time. Separate yourselves draenei,” Yorn shouted, pointing a finger towards the Slums. He called us draenei. Eyebrows raised, did he mean to say that?
Yorn never really seemed like the type for public speaking. I had only heard him shout orders like the rest of the guards. Wherever he learned to give speeches, or if it was just an innate ability, he did a damn fine job swaying the audience to curiosity and fear. Why did he have to be so good?
We did as we were told. I squeezed Eidan’s hand tight before parting from him. He tried to shout something to me, but the sound was swallowed by the roaring of feet as he disappeared in to the crowd.
Once the men and women stood on opposite sides of the Slums, we were led outside the metal gate for the first time in two years. Terokkar seemed darker than I remembered, more sinister. Shadows swallowed us as we headed deeper in to the forest. It was an unfamiliar part of the thicket, which only added to my discomfort at the situation. A “tournament” was the last thing we needed.
After an hour of walking, we entered a large clearing that had a building erected in the middle of it, an arena. The arena wasn’t very large, just enough to fit the Broken population. The wooden structure loomed precariously over us, looking like it was made yesterday.
We were corralled in to the arena--the wood boards creaking incessantly--and quickly took our seats. The arena consisted of a floor of dirt with four pillars erected in a square. Guards lined the arena’s perimeter along with some littered throughout the crowd. There also was a section of the stands that was walled off for the draenei spectators, mostly higher ranked guards. I tried looking for Eidan amongst the men, but I couldn’t pick out his tiny face from the ones that held so much pain. Maybe his had blended too well.
When we were settled, Yorn’s voice boomed over the crystal loudspeaker. “Thank you for gathering here today draenei, it will only help you and the rest of Shattrath,” Yorn said. I hated when he called us draenei. “Today, two contestants of a random gender will be placed in the arena before you. Their only mission is to survive the other’s onslaught, a fight to the death . . .”
Yorn’s lips continued to move, but no sound was heard. His voice was immediately swallowed as screams and shouts resonated throughout the arena. The Broken all around me stood up shouted obscenities, some even throwing their measly possessions toward the guards. That is what Yorn wanted all along. To weed out the weak by having the stronger succeed in killing them. It was a monstrous idea. It was immoral. It was the draenei.
It wasn’t long until two struggling women were dragged out in to the arena by draenei guards, and armed with knives. The doors to the arena were locked, the walls were impossible to climb. They would either both die of starvation, or blood would be spilled.
Various spectators tried to flee from the arena, but they were met with a beating by the guards. I sat completely still, not drawing attention to myself, not even breathing. I watched the two women in the arena. They had obviously realized their fate, and looked solemnly at one another.
In a flash one of the women had the other on the ground and blood was dripping on to the arena floor. Shouts of repulsion and disapproval sounded from the crowd, but their voices were not heard. The victor was soon replaced by another duo. Each man or woman that fell in a pool of blood was replaced by another. They all had one thing in common, they looked weak.
The spectators refused to watch in silence. None of it was cohesive, only chaos reigned in the stands filled with Broken. Not even the beatings from the guards could quiet down the masses. Even I started to revolt along with them. You know, an obscenity here, a draenic curse there. Karabor taught me all those awful curses.
Yorn, opposite from where I sat, stared in silence. In fact, none of the draenei seemed to speak. No cheers, no hollers. Nothing.
Did it pain them as much as it pained us? Doubtful.
I started to get used to the lull that was the tournament--though, it wasn’t quiet in the slightest. It seemed that the festivities were ending, as the “excitement” of the situation was dying down. I relaxed. I wasn’t sure what I was tense about. I was the most able-bodied Broken in the Slums. What was I worried about?
A shriek sounded to the left of me. I whipped my head around to see the familiar body that had uttered that horrible sound. Eidan was being dragged towards the arena, struggling to break free of the guards ten times his size. I shouted something obscene, and tried to move toward him, but the guards must have expected this, and beat me with their metal rods.
I put up a fight with the guards, but they restrained me as Eidan was put in to arena with the man that had given him the toy train set. I screamed my head off, watching tears stream down my brother’s face. The contestants were both given a knife, and the man--I believe his name was Pan--seemed to hesitate. Surely he knew that it wouldn’t take much to destroy him, to crush him beneath his big toe. My brother. Eidan.
I broke free from the guards restraint long enough to run and vault the wall of the arena. I rushed towards my brother screaming, “EIDAN! EIDAN!” The crowd went nuts. Some turned around and punched the guards, stealing their metal rods in the process. Many of the Broken followed my lead, and vaulted the arena wall, charging towards the guards around it. A full scale rebellion had occurred.
All because of me.
Vindicators swarmed the arena, blocking my pathway toward Eidan. I no longer had sight of my brother, but I knew where he was standing, frightened and wanting to go home. My instincts and abilities that the fel gifted me with took over. The knife hidden inside my tattered clothes was drawn, and I slipped in to the shadows. I cut through my foes, slicing their necks and stabbing their privates for good measure.
Some guards put up a good fight. The ones that carried huge hammers in particular. The long, sweeping strikes of the hammer was enough to have me falter, almost slamming in to my side. The hammers were strong, but I soon found out that they were incredibly slow. I used my speed as an advantage, running around them and stabbing them in the back while they were still turning.
I was able to slip in to the shadows to dodge most of the incoming attacks. For one, I was grateful for the gift that the fel had given me, but I still felt an emptiness where the Light had once resided within me. It didn’t matter then. I was a cold blooded killing machine, intent on rescuing the only family I had left. Eidan.
Gunshots rang out within the arena. We were getting shot at like savages. Countless lives would be lost. All I cared about was Eidan. I needed Eidan. He was my brother.
I cut through the last guard standing in my way, and was met with a horror. There was Pan, standing over the bloody body of Eidan. I didn’t even need to think, I cut Pan’s throat, letting his lifeless body collapse to the ground.
I knelt over Eidan. He was alive, but fragile, weak, the Eidan I used to know before he nursed me back to health. His eyes were watery and distant; his face pale and cold. I held both of his hands in mine, and we shared a silent moment together.
My life with him seemed to flash before my eyes. It was too much to take in. Tears fell down my swollen cheeks, and I buried my face in his matted hair. I didn’t care that there was a rebellion threatening to destroy the draenei and itself, all I cared about was my brother. I stroked his hair repeatedly, until his hoarse voice whispered in my ear.
“Sutha,” he said quietly. I leaned in even closer to him, trying to hide my emotions.
“Yes, Eidan?”
“Make peace between the Draenei and Broken,” his voice cracked and became faint, “please.”
I never got the chance to answer him. The guards, who had gained control of the arena again, ripped me from his dying body, and beat me. Strike after strike came down upon my body. I never answered with a sound, I didn’t dare show weakness.
The rebellion was quelled, and we were sent back to the Slums in metal chains, never to return to the arena again. On my way out, in a fleeting glance, I thought I saw Yorn staring at me expressionless. That bastard.
Our punishment was no food for an entire week. I held on to life, sitting in the tent that seemed so much bigger without a second body. There was no one else to comfort me. No one else to feed--how awful that sounds. I was alone.
If I had ever gotten the chance to answer my brother’s dying dream, I never would have agreed. How could the Broken ever be friends with those that beat us, ravaged us, and destroyed our spirits? How could they ever repay us for what they’ve done? Eidan’s wishes were not mine to act upon. I could not look past the hate that lurked within me. It was a demon I could not get rid of.
I could almost see Eidan’s face looking up at me, disappointed in my decision.
I sat in my tent and dwelled on my hatred. I began planning my next move. There would be a rebellion, and this time it would succeed.
The draenei would pay.