Destaya’s Character Backstory (August 2011 Contest Entry)

Destaya inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of the forests of Hyjal through her ruined nose. Her once pretty face twisted into a look of distaste, her blackened lips curling as she caught a whiff of burning cinder’s from further down the mountain and the smell of her own rotting body. “What’s wrong, sweet stuff? You look like you just stepped in a pile of Elekk shit.”

Destaya sighed and rubbed her eyes that now gave off an unnatural blue glow, “Of course it’s Elekk’s,” she muttered to herself, trying to ignore her impromptu companion. She knew that he had chosen to use Elekk’s as an example because they were the traditional mounts of her people. Not that she had any right to ride one now. Every time she walked up to one of the huge creatures, it flared it’s flappy ears, reared up on it’s hind legs, trumpet blaring in the air as it tried to gore her with it’s tusks. She guessed that’s what happens when you smell like a midden pile. “C’mon girl,” he egged on, “Don’t make me talk to your cute little tail all trip.”

Her long fingers grabbed at her tail to take it out of his reach, pulling it into her lap. She was thankful for the gloves, for every extremity was beginning to blacken and rot. She could see it on the end of her tail, right past the decorative ring she’d placed on it. It was on her fingers, on her hooves, on the tips of her tentacle’s that sprouted just behind her pointed ears, on her horns. She didn’t even want to mention the other places on her body was she was beginning to look like she was plagued. It was bad enough that her once lavender skin was more of a sullen gray, her once pristine white hair now turning sooty with… Oh for the love of god, was that mold? She heard her companion sigh, “I suppose I can just talk to your ghoul pet then, since you’re so intent on being difficult, you stupid space goat!”

Just what she needed, someone to talk to Pebblegrinder and give him idea’s. Destaya’s brow’s furrowed together as she twisted around in her saddle to look down at her companion, her mismatched armour clinking together satisfactorily, “What would I talk to you about?” she said in her heavily accented common. “We have nothing in common!”

“I don’t know, anything? You have me at your mercy, and I need some entertainment. After this, I won’t be able to talk to anyone. I’m willing to listen, and you look like you need someone to talk with.” Her unwanted companion paused, letting Destaya think about his proposal. “After all,” he continued, “it’s not like I can tell anyone what you say.”

Destaya twisted back around in her saddle, setting her hands on the pommel of her griffon’s saddle. She should just let him stayed tied to it, let her griffon’s bony tail just smack the crap out of him. But then she looked out again over her view of Hyjal from the roots of the World Tree, of the pine forests, of the flowers and the water and the life. She looked down at her griffon, nothing but sinew and bone left on it, it’s eyes spitting blue fire. Her lips twitched from one side of her face to the other, as if torn on the response she wanted to give him.

“It’s just..,” she started, then stopped. Her fingers darted up to twist her tentacle’s around in a circle in her nervous habit. “Well… I’m dead.”
She shot him the dirtiest look she could, “Dead things rot.”

Destaya paused and her face turned up into a look of utter embarrassment, “Do you understand how difficult it is to get into the mood for sexy-time when your skin is oozing pus and peeling away from your inner thighs?!” she finally cried out.

“Uhh… What?”
“You’ll never have a worse feeling than taking off your armour to have your potential lover vomit on his shoes,” she said with a sigh. “You know, I’m doing my best to move on with my new life, but I’m still lonely! I want companionship, is that too much to ask!”
“I… Suppose not?” Her companion now sounded unsure of himself.
“Do you know what it’s like, having everyone smile at you, say nice things to you, but you know that they never mean it!” she continued, gesticulating wildly as she got off her griffon to go pick some herbs that she spotted.
“Uh, no, can’t say that I do…”
“Well it sucks, let me tell you!” she said, yanking out the stormvine by the roots. “I understand that I was a slave to a madman who was bent on world domination, but I’m over that now! I rarely have urges to kill the living anymore, and I never act on them… Why can’t people see that?”

Destaya walked back to griffon and roughly stuffed the herb into one of her bags.
“I mean, if I was, I’d be with Sylvanas and her brood! They still eat corpses, did you know that?” she continued, not even listening to her companions half-hearted attempts at making conversation. “And it’s not like I can help the smell. I mean, I’m dead, for the love of god! I’m falling apart, kept together only by magic! I don’t need people coming up and asking me if I needed to borrow their perfume!”

Destaya spat on the ground, her tail lashing around in her agitation. She stuffed her hand into another bag strapped to her griffon and pulled out some raw billfish. She sniffed it, unsure of how long the fish had been in her bag. It smelled a little off, but it could just be her. What did it matter, it’s not like she could get food poisoning and die. Again.
“I can se-”
“And another thing!” she suddenly cried out, taking a huge bite out of the slice of fish, “The priest from the church who want to ‘bless’ me and ‘convert’ me back to the Light… I already believe in the Light, assholes, I’m a draenei!!! I grew up with the Naaru looking over us, I’m still blessed by them! Look!”

Destaya summoned up the blessing from inside her, casting it on herself. A glowing blue symbol rose from her forehead as the healing energies swirled around her, “If I wasn’t Draenei, still a slave to the Lich King, would I still be able to do this?! NO! I WOULDN’T!” she screeched, her tail lashing so hard the tip flew off with a snap. With a cry of dismay, Destaya raced over to where it lay on the ground, “No, my pretty tail,” she moaned as she sunk to her knees, her hands clasping her gracefully swept back horns. Tears started to slide down her face as Pebblegrinder crossed over to her and put his three fingered hand on her shoulder.

“Why did it have to be my tail? why couldn’t it have been my horns… Or my tentacle’s, even?” she wept as she tried to set her tail back to where it was supposed to be, turning it this way and that to try and get it to match up correctly. Her ghoul moved to her back and got out a needle and thread for her as she continued her wailing. “I could handle that, I could even handle my little finger! But why my tail! Oh, my poor, precious tail… It was the only part left of me that’s cute!”

Destaya painstakingly stitched her tail back on, sniffling and hiccuping throughout the whole sordid process, her companion blessedly silent. She finally got up and wiped at her eyes, walking over to her griffon. She untied a fresh head from her saddle and held it up to her face by it’s hair. “What’s wrong,” she demanded of it, “now that you got a good little laugh at my expense you don’t say anything?”

The head scrunched up his feature’s, as if caught in an awkward position, “Well… What am I supposed to say? I mean, I am just a head now after all, thanks to you. I can sympathize, I suppose… sort of. But if I’d known you were carrying around this much baggage, I would have kept my mouth shut!” Destaya scoffed and smashed the side of the head’s face against the pelvis bone of her griffon, who squawked his displeasure at her, “No one asked for you opinion anyway!” she yelled at it before shoving it into a backpack. She climbed back into her saddle, affixing a new ring around her tail to cover the shoddy stitch job.

“C’mon, Pebble’s, maybe after I exchange his head for those new shoulders in Uldum I can find someone who can mend my tail back together,” she said to her ghoul. “Oh, my poor tail!” she wailed one more time before taking off, her griffon propelling itself through the air by whatever unholy magic’s had raised her as well.

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