Entrails. Gore. Streams of blood seeping into the vibrantly yellow grass and plains of Kun-Lai, threatening to forever stain it to red, a constant memory of the battle to come, and the battle that had already taken place in this forsaken, Celestial-forgotten area. Screams of fear, despair and utter agony – pain, torture and torment.
She couldn’t believe what she saw upon entering the frontal village, Westwind Rest, after making her trek from the Tian Monastery, deep within the Jade Forest, through to Veiled Stair, and to the far side of a small passage exiting into the Kun-Lai summit. She had first stopped at Binan Village, the supposed next target of the Yaungol raids. Her calm demeanour was immediately set into action upon entering Binan Village. The Villagers, innocent farmers and brewers from all walks of life reduced to simple babbling messes. They rushed Jiwen in a state of panic and anxiety, crying with their hearts out, pleading for her to save their families, their homes, their lives. Many of them were already carrying their dead to bury in the ground – however, many of them could only toss the bodies in a fire made in the centre of town, for there were no more places to bury the dead, no time. Forced to watch as their loved ones, cubs, family members burned away to ash without a proper burial or speech. This was not the Pandaren way.
Even the hope-inducing beacon of light for a monk was not capable of settling the constant cloud of sheer despair and sadness around the village, plaguing the minds of those once living in child-like negligence without a care in the world. She aided where she could as her will and mission states it, to help all those that would accept it, no matter the cost of your own. Be altruistic, be loving, respect all life. These words, though powerful, were not enough to ready her for the sights to come. Entering the wooden structure draped with a large white sheet, a red-cross painted on the surface, clearly indicating a first-aid station, she walked lightly on the pads of her paws. Her ears dropped tenfold as they caught the sounds of the groans and moans of injured Pandaren, the smell of death entering her black nose, causing her to shudder back in disgust.
Remain strong, Jiwen. Chi-Ji will light your way through these times. Believe in your Celestial, and he will always be at your side.
A Pandaren male was her first task, by her own judgement of triage. A Pandaren nurse was already bent over and attempting to tend to whatever wound he had, and Jiwen judged by the look of his face, his dying fur and the whitening of his eyes that he did not have much time left. The monk stepped forward and made her way over to the male, and finally spotted the severity of his mortal wound. The nurse had been covering the lower half, or what used to be his lower half. Severed at the hip, he was but a torso grasping onto the final moments of life pain-stricken eyes filled to the brim with tears of regret and angst. Bending down at the knee, she placed a gently paw onto the top of his head, placing him into her lap as gently and delicate as she possibly could. “Greeti–.” Her voice was stopped and immediately replaced by the man’s final words, stuttered and lacking of any breath or strength within them. “I don’t want to die.” He made eye contact with the monk for a brief second before his body succumbed to it’s wound and passed into the afterlife. Lowering her paw, she draped it across his eyelids and shut them for the last time, bending at the hip to place her ursine lips at the tip of his forehead and kiss him – a final guidance into the afterlife, into heaven, into peaceful living.
Remain strong. Be what you believe in.
The lumbering Pandaren shifted her focus around, looking for another being that could possibly use her aid and healing skills. She now spots a newborn cub tucked away in the corner of the wooden shack. She approached, but her nose told her otherwise. It was not being tended to for a reason. Wincing, her resolve breaking for a moment as she herself feels a tear wallowing up in her eye.
She wipes it away, and gazes around the room once again for -anyone- that she could help, but in the end it was futile. The nurses were nothing more than simple gatekeepers into the next plane of existence. She could not remain here, as much as it welled within her soul and being and tormented her, she could not remain where her efforts were wasted. The Monk of Chi-Ji went to each suffering patient and prayed for all of them, individually blessing them and taking whatever pain she could away from their dying bodies, but she could not stay, she had to aid elsewhere, and regrettably, she exited the building. Snapping her claws together, she called her one mount to her side, a large crane of green and whites, standing brilliantly tall, elegant and groomed. It was not a fitting look for this area of death.
Climbing onto the back of the Crane’s body, she rode for the next outpost, Westwind Rest. However, it was not long before her amber coloured eyes caught the remains of what the village had become – nothing more than simple charred ash and fragments of what it once was before. She stared for what seemed like hours, many hours, before she came to her senses. This would be the mistake that Jiwen has trained all of her life to never commit. She felt a seering pain in the side of her stomach,a bellowing cry of pain echoing out through the fields of Kun-Lai. A spear had entered her body and punctured her inner-organs, remaining in her flesh, her very essence. The crane entered a frenzied state of panic and shuffled the monk off of it’s back and ran for it’s own safety , leaving the monk impaled on the floor. She attempts to snap back into action, quickly bringing herself up to her paws, gripping the spear at the base of the metal-head and snapped the wooden handle off, leaving the tip in. Blood began to pool out of her mercilessly, but there was nothing she could do for it at this time.
The monk turned her head around and quickly took notice of her environment. Groups and groups of Yaungol began to swarm her in all directions, encompassing her in a full circle that she had no possible way of escaping without fighting. She bided her time, but she knew she had to make a move before she inevitably passed out from her wound. Her mind raced at the constant possibilities and openings that could happen to get her out of this certain death wish, frantically looking around for a way out. The Yaungol began to press the circle in and tighten it around her, those that did not fit pressed inward and began to attack her. In singular combat, they had no chance. The Tauren-like fighter lunged at her with a Pandaren-made sword, obviously stolen off a Shado-Pan or a defender of a village on a previous raid, aimed straight for her centre-mass. She side-stepped it quickly and led with a punch to the side of the head, laced with lingering invocations of the Celestials themselves. Brief flickers of red surrounded her paw as it pressed forward and connected with the targeted area, a sickening rip of flesh as the Yaungol was half-decapitated, tendrils of flesh straining and tearing off from the pure force behind the punch. He immediately dropped, and did not stand up, adding to the collection of blood that stained the field, the souls floating through the air without their bodies.
Two approachers. She raised her paws to the sky and called upon the life-force within her, green mists creating a physical object in her palms. A sheath, for a Shaktani warblade, specifically crafted by Pandaren blacksmiths, now a physical manifestation of her will and strength. She quickly places it at her hip and grips onto the handle, drawing the large, long and thin blade from it’s holster. As the enemies approach her and swing violently in large matching arcs, she covered herself in a large, pulsing green bubble of chi, causing the blades to strike off and rebound elsewhere. The monk quickly tumbled forward with her advantage of the rebound, stabbing her blade into the core of the left Yaungol, drawing the blade down and down throughout his body, until it exited from between his hips – the only thing keeping him from slitting into two was his head. Jiwen did not stop her assault there, leading with a headbutt to disorient the almost retaliating Yaungol, causing him to stagger back, before swinging the blade at the now exposed throat of him as he rebounds and staggers for his balance. She slits it in one simple cut, a splatter of blood covering the front of her leather armour from the spewing of his severed veins and arteries,
She made the effort to sheathe the weapon again and prepare for the next onslaught of her assaulters, but it was made in vain. They returned back to their first weapon of choice, spears, and lined it up in her circle of battle. There was no escape. She avoided what she could, but spear after spear entered her body – one, through the centre of her stomach completely through to her back, another on the right side of her arm, cracking and shattering the muscles and bones beneath. The last one, entered just over her left breast, crashing through her ribs and straight through to puncture her lung. She fell immediately to the ground after such grievous, life-ending injuries, and did not stand up. Her breathing faltered from her punctured, perforated lung, and blood was now unhindered as it poured and escaped the confines of her body.
“Go, now.” The quiet whispering of the Shado-Master could only be heard from those around her. As if straight on cue, the Wu-Kao rogues went into action and decimated the lone group of Yaungol. Armed with toxic and poisonous venoms on their blades, they only had to stab once and allow the hemotoxic, alchemic liquids stop the blood of their enemies before they truimphed over them with ease. No injuries were sustained by the Shado-Pan as one by one, without any fight, the Yaungol fell over dead. The Shado-Master scoffed and spoke out arrogantly to the gathering of the group, “Pitiful. The Steelpaw thinks they can send only one of their own to aid. We need an -army-, not a lone monk. Pick her up, bring her back to the Monastery. Yalia, make sure she does not succumb to her wounds – though I do not think she will survive such pain.” All present bowed towards her and went to their tasks.
Jiwen was limp and lifeless the journey back to the Monastery.