Raging Tauren

[Brighde]

Authors note: As some miscreant seems to have hacked the boards and destroyed all the wonderful stories, I am posting this, the first of the stories I am currently working on and posting on the boards. Here, in total, is the story to date of the "Raging Tauren"

Raging Tauren

Xasxas sat across from Elder Runetotem. A warm fire crackled in the background as a cool evening breeze blew across elder rise. In the background the sound of drums drift across Thunderbluff from hunter rise. The two Tauren stare into the fire for some time. The younger of the two breaks the silence first…

“Elder Runetotem I miss Bloodhoof village.”

“In the time you have been here you have served the tribe well Xasxas. I am proud of you. You will always have a home here. What troubles you young one?”

“Elder, the day I left Bloodhoof village it was attacked by a mighty dwarven warrior in plate armor. He attacked the guards and our young ones. Why did he do that?”

“I know of what you speak. The dwarf was exacting vengeance for his brethren who died at the Bael’dun mines to the west.”

“But Elder, the dwarves are digging in sacred lands”

“Yes, I know that Xasxas. We did ask them to stop, many times. The dwarves refused. Chief Cairne Bloodhoof decided that the time for speaking came to an end. But the grievance of the races go much deeper than that.”

“What do you mean elder? Why do they hate us? The nightelf druids of moonglade are our friends. I go there all the time now.”

“This is true Xasxas, but you must understand some things. The orcs have long hated the humans. This is because the humans kept the orcs as slaves and worse…many of their people where hunted to near extinction.”

“But did the orc’s invade the humans? Didn’t you say that they were tricked into it by Gul’dan and the Shadow Council? But for the deception of the Shadow Council you said the Orc’s wouldn’t have even come here. The orcs of the Frostwolf clan were even exiled for refusing to follow Gul’dan.

“Yes, this is true Xasxas. But you must understand, of all the beasts you will ever hunt, the hardest to kill is hatred.”

Both Elder Runetotem and Xasxas sat together, as silence passed between them. Once again the younger Tauren asked for his elder’s wisdom.

“Elder, there is something else that troubles me…”

“What is it Xasxas?” Elder Runetotem asked me.

“The other day I was hunting in the Barren Planes near the Cross Roads, I continued. As you taught me, each time I take the life of a beast I thank its spirit and that of the Earthmother for the life that gave itself so the Taurens can live.”

“That is good Xasxas,” Elder Runetotem said to me with a smile, “You learn well. Truly you walk with the Earthmother. Please continue…”

“Well, Elder, I had just finished prayer for the noble spirit of the mighty Kodo. As I was taught, I always skin the beast and use all its parts. I leave nothing laying on the open plane.”

“This is good. That is they way of our people. The Kodo is a mighty and noble creature. You were right to pray for it’s spirit.”

Hesitantly Xasxas continued. “My prayers were interrupted by the sounds of battle. I rushed to the crossroads and dozens of humans were raiding the orc settlement, killing all that they could. You have sent me many times to the Nightelf settlement in Moonglade for training. Because of this I speak a bit of elvish….well…as I saw the orcs dieing and wounded all around me, I began to heal them. I thought I would do my best to help those in pain. Amongst them was a nightelf warrior. He was trying to kill an Orc warrior. I healed the Orc warrior so he could not. That’s when the nighelf turned to me and shouted something at me….”

Here the youner stopped. A pained look crossed his face and he could not go on. Elder Runetotem, being as understanding as he is, let Xasxas continue in his own time. After a great deal of silence passed, the elder spoke….

“What did he say to you Xasxas?”

The younger choked downhis emotions that were a mixture of grief and anger. Slowly he continued, “He told me I should go back with the other young ones and…and…well, ‘milk myself.’

He looked up at his elder through tear filled eyes. At length he continued, “Elder, the humans all think we are just big dumb cows don’t they.”

“Sadly, Xasxas, many of them do. What do you feel you should do about it?”

Xasxas got up and stood for awhile; staring into the fire. He looked into Elder Runetotem’s eyes and said, “There is a human expression my elder, that says ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’”

“Yes Xasxas, ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’…and the whole world will be blind and toothless. Is this the course of action you choose Xasxas?”

Xasxas turned away and strode toward the door. Then stopped, and without looking back at his elder said, “I don’t know…I just don’t know…”

**************

Xasxas walked out into the night breeze that blew across elder rise. The moons were full…a hunter’s moon is old da’ used to call them. As looked out across the waving grass of Mulgore he saw the small stand of trees where he used to play as a child. His mind drifted back across the decades…back to the time his old da’, a fourth generation druid, told him about being able to shapeshift into a lion…protecting the plains of Mulgore…

…Being an lion was about patience; and Xasxas had infinite patience. He carefully watched his quarry, studying its habits…where it went, what it did. Xasxas the lion waited, planned, he bided his time. Waiting for the precise moment guaranteed success, without bring danger to himself and his tribe. Xasxas was a druid, tutored carefully in the ways of the Earth Mother.

Now he had traced his quarry to their dig site; a mine they had driven into the very bowls of the Earth Mother. There were five Dark Iron Dwarves and only one of him. Not good odds for a druid such as himself… “Perhaps they should go find some more friends,” he chuckled to himself. The smell of his quarry’s filth, lingered in his sensitive nostrils.

Xasxas the Lion prowled carefully through the tall grass near the edge of the Dwarve’s dig site. Even druids, no matter how skilled, cannot prowl entirely without risk leaving a trace of their passing. He followed a small gully that ran up the side of the mountain ridge to the area just above the mines. It had once been a small creek, no run dry as if somehow in reaction to the evil that lay within the corruption of the Earth Mother.

He lay in wait, hidden by tall prairie grass, at the top of the ridge. Hesitating, the mighty lion slowly crept out of the edge of the tall grass and peered over the ledge and looked down into the gaping pit the dwarves had dug into the Earth. It seemed to Xasxas as if it where a gaping wound.

The open wound horrified Xasxas. The ore they gouged from the Earth Mother seemed as if it where huge gaping lumps of her flesh. It made him retch, spewing the contents of his stomach into a nearby patch of weeds. He crawled slowly edged back to the safety of his hiding place, afraid that the noise he made might have alerted the dwarves.

When all was quiet Xasxas silently padded his way to the edge of the precipice. Looking down, he crept over to the gully that lead down to the dwarves dig. Cautiously he made his way through the filth the dwarves had left in their wake as ripped in to the Earth Mother’s flesh. Xasxas the stealth lion kept to the shadows of the setting sun as he approached their camp site.

Overhead clouds from the east threatened to overtake the beautiful Mulgore sunset. A slight mist began to fall, lightly coating Xasxas’ mane as he lay in wait. An hour passed with Xasxas listening to the dwarves laugh while wooden mugs filled and refilled with Dwarven ale. He inched forward into a mud filled trench in which the dwarves had been working. The light rain had turned the earth to ooze that reminded Xasxas of the Earth Mother giving up her blood as the result of the Dwarves treachery. The muck coated his fur as he crept forward ever so slowly…making him blend perfectly with his surroundings

************

The hours wore on as he made his way closer to the campsite, now a dry patch in what had become a sea of mud. With the setting of the sun, the temperature began to drop. The twin moons where full, their light glistening in the drops of water on his fur, shinning like diamonds. Water ran down from the precipice filling the formerly dry gulch. The rhythm of the water pounding like kettle drums in his ears. He waited-until midnight-then ever so cautiously he made his way into the campsite. Hiding in the shadows, Xasxas carefully placed each paw so as not to create the slightest sound. At the center of the camp, the fire dwindled. One of the two remaining dwarves reached behind him and threw another log into the center of the flame, stoking the fire. He recognized the older of the two dwarves at the fire as the leader of the dig site. Both dwarves stared intently into the flames as shared a conversation. This was just the distraction that Xasxas was hoping for.

“Patience is not only my forte,” he told himself, “I am the very paragon of perseverance.”

The mighty lion Xasxas crawled on his belly, edging toward the unsuspecting dwarves. Soon he was within pounding distance.
From his hiding place he could see the two dwarves laughing. Laughing at the families of Mulgore no doubt. Then, the older dwarf pointed directly at him! How could this be? He had been discovered. His mind raced, trying to decide on a course of action. Too soon his foe set upon him. In a moment the leader and reached him….

…pulling him out of the mud. Xasxas smiled as he remembered his mother looking down at her little boy, that she and her friend Morningstar had seen hiding in the bushes again.

“Xasxas!,” cried his mother, holding him at arms length.

There was little Xasxas covered from head to foot with mud and leaves plastered all over his body. Morningstar burst out laughing behind his mother; and soon his mother joined in the laughter as she surveyed the condition of her son. Setting down her little boy, she smiled down at him.

“Have you been playing mighty lion protector again young man?” she asked.

“Yes mommy,” said Xasxas ever so sheepishly. “Have I been bad?”

Daughter and child made there way back to the wooden bench to join her dear friend Morningstar near the fire at the center of Bloodhoof Village. She sat little Xasxas on the bench between the two of them.

“Xasxas, She told her son in a mildly scolding tone, I don’t mind you playing “mighty lion protector.” I don’t even mind the messes you make of yourself. But you have got to get over this anger at people who don’t understand Mother Earth the way we do. Isn’t that right Morningstar? She added looking up at her friend for support.”

Morningstar smiled down at her best friends son. Ignoring the mud that caked the little boy, nearly matching the color of Tajqa’s skin, she took the tiny hand in hers. It looked so tiny against her larger. Looking into the worried little eyes Morningstar spoke to little Xasxas ever so gently, reassuring her.

“Xasxas, she said, your mother is right. It doesn’t matter where you came from. It doesn’t matter where you go in life. We are your family. You will always have a home here…and the Earth Mother will always have a safe retreat here where people love and respect her.”

“But mom” Xasxas blurted out, “those dwarves think we are all just big dumb cows, they will NEVER learn. Before he died dad said….”

“Yes, Morningstar said. I know what they think of us. You are right. But you are a Tauran, you can be proud of your heritage. We all miss your father. But you still have a mother who loves you and our tribe wants you with them. We will look out for the Earth Mother together.”

“I love you, Xasxas’s mother said, smiling at her son. She took him in her arms as she hugged him and whispered in his ear…we are safe here little one.”

“…aren’t they going to kill us like they did dad?” Xasxas asked through nearly silent tears.

“These lands are well protected, his mother said with a reassuring smile. We don’t have to fear those bad men any more. I will always love you…”

Then mother and son hugged each other in silence for along time, with Morningstar looking on. Moments passed as little Xasxas enjoyed the warmth of his mothers hug. The moments lingered on…and his mother’s grip loosened…dropping Xasxas to the ground…her eyes wide open in both shock and horror. Xasxas watched as his mother dropped slowly into Morningstar’s arms. Then she saw the black shaft of an arrow that protruded from the back of his mother’s neck..

Not understanding fully what had happened the little boy just gave his mother a puzzled look. In a pitiful little voice he managed to squeak out the words…

“Mommy?”

Morningstar had spotted the source of the angry black shaft, but too late. Here in Mulgore was the last place she expected an attack. She watched helplessly as the assassin slipped back into the night, fading from sight. She held her dieing friend in her arms, watching as the light that was her life, faded from her eyes. Morningstar watched as Xasxas’s mother gagged, struggling for breath and a voice that would not come. A silent tear coursed down the dieing woman’s cheek. Morningstar followed her friends eyes as they look one at her daughter one last time with a mixture of love and anguish.

“Dearest friend, Morningstar whispered…for that is all the voice she could find…dearest sister…you can go into the next world in peace. I will always love little xasxas. I will raise him not as my own…for truly now…he is my own. Your son will always be loved and cared for.”

With that the light behind those dark elf eyes, the window of the soul, slipped into eternity.

****************

Xasxas’ mind was quickly brought back to the present by a slap on the back by Elder Runetotem. Yet anger still filled his heart as he remembered the death of both his parents.

“I know what you are thinking lad, began the elder. I miss your parents dearly. You father and I where the best of friends long before you were born. We were proud, headstrong young bulls then. We would hunt together. There is much of your father that I see in you lad.”

There was a long silence as the wind whistled amongst the three mesas that formed Thunder Bluff. The sun had long since set and Xasxas now stared at the moonlight Mulgore sky. Thousands of points of lights wheeled across the skies in an endless array that never ceased to fascinate him.

“Come back inside my son, there is something I need to tell you.”

Silence. Xasxas still kept his back to Elder Runetotem.

“If you will not give me the courtesy due an elder, then you will give me the attention due a father,” said the Elder in a raised voice.

With that Elder Runetotem grabbed Xasxas and spun him around, with a strength belying his age. Xasxas simply stood there staring at his elder with an expression of anger on his face.

“I know your anger is not directed at me lad, and so I will not count it as the disrespect the other elders would consider it. Ever since your father died, I have helped raise you at your mother’s request and now Morningstar’s. Things are not always what they seem, and though you think you see things as they are now that you are a druid you still have much to learn. Blame for your father’s hands does not lay with the dwarves…”

His face now frozen and emotionless, except for the piercing eyes for which Xasxas was known, paused, then in a sarcastic tone that Elder Runetotem would not tolerated from any save his foster son.

“Then teach me O’ wise one.”

Elder Runetotem let out a long sigh then continued.

“Your father did not die because he was murdered by the dark iron dwarves. Your father died because he was headstrong – like you.”

[Brighde]

***

*************

“Reet! So that’s ‘ow it was then?” said the dwarf slamming his mug of dark ale on the wooden table, splattering suds on the table and floor in the process. The fact that the any dwarf would spill even a drop of good dwarven brew perhaps told of the slight stage of inebriation of the bearer of the mug. The dwarf wiped the suds off the front of her leather vest with her hand, followed by her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

“Aye, said the dwarf across from her, also slamming her mug on the table, with a nod that was so violent that her twin red braids slapped on the back of her steel armor, That’s ‘ow the tale come down tae me from me mother’s, mother’s, mother…”

A somewhat puzzled look crossed the face of the first dwarf as if she were trying to remember if she had locked the door to her house. She muttered a bit to herself – counting out the “mothers” on fingers which where very lithe for a human let alone a dwarf.

“….yer mother’s, mothers….then turning to her old friend Brighde she said loudly, YER GREAT GRANDMOTHER!”

“Reet,” said Brighde taking another long draft of ale, “so ye knew ‘er then did ye?”

“Nooo,” came the reply, “I kin count is all – unlike some o’ the rest o’ us.”

“I kin’ count as well,” said Brighde in mock earnestly,"...I kin' count the two o' ye sittin' across from me!" With that she laughed hardily and took another long gulp of her ale.

“So tell me Brighde, said the first dwarf, jus’ what is it that yer father was doin’ havin’ dealins with the Dark Iron Dwarves in the first place; him bein’ the father of a fine upstandin’ paladin such as yerself?”

“I kin’ tell ye that was a fact that he was no proud of in the first place”

“Dealin’ with the dark irons?”

“Nooo, said Brighde, her speech now slurred than before, ‘avin’ a paladin fer a daughter. He was dead set agin it from the first.”

“Let me guess – ‘e asked ye ‘ow ye would ever ‘ave any children an’ yer mother cried fer half an hour?”

“O’ so ye heard already did ye?” asked Brighde.

“Noo. I ‘ad the same conversation wi’ me mum an’ da’ meself. ‘Lara’ ‘e says tae me one day, ‘ow will ye e’er have any wee bairns if ye keep up wi’ this life o’ yourin?’”

“What did ye tell ‘im?” asked Brighde, with another long gulp, now barely able to hold herself upright in the chair.


“What could I say?” said Lara, “I offered tae steal ‘im a few.”

With this both Brighde and Lara laughed loud and long, both dwarves barely able to catch their breath. Finally the laughter settled down to a chuckle as both women sat drinking their ale in silence, just enjoying each others company; for that is what is said to be the measure of a true friendship – when silence can pass between two friends and not be uncomfortable.

The deep thrumming of the great forge filled in the background to the more present sound of laughter and clinking of glasses that was the sign of the stock and trade of every good Inn. And the Stonefire Inn of Ironforge was one of the best. The air smelled of a mixture of hops and a slight odor of smoke that was ever present in Ironforge. It was hard to be entirely rid of the smell with such a large forge operating completely underground.

“Well I am glad tae see me ol’ friend back, nae matter how sad the circumstances,” said Lara finally breaking the silence.

“Well it’s good to be back,” Brighde answered, “it has been a long time.”

“It is jus’ a shame that it took the death o’ yer mother fer the Thane tae bring ye ‘ome finally.”

There was a long silence. Then Lara spoke again, this time in a hushed tone so no one else around her could overhear the conversation.

“So jus’ what WAS yer father doin’ messin’ around wi’ the dark irons?”

Learning in Brighde also spoke in an undertone, “Well it was the bloody Thane what sent da’ all that way tae Mulgore in the first place….the right bloody bustard tha’ ‘e is.”

“Shh-shh-shh,” hissed Lara sounding somewhat like a drunken asthmatic snake, “Don’t let anyone ‘ear ye say somethin’ like that in here.”

“Well the Thane ‘as that comin’ n’ a lot more I kin tell ye’ He be the whole reason tha’ dad is dead in the first place…” said Brighde her voice raising, then trailing off a bit as she noticed some of the other patrons of the Stonefire Inn glancing in their direction.

“I’LL SPEAK ABOOT ME COUSIN ANY WAY I PLEASE!!” the drunken dwarf yelled and slammed her mug on the table – and in the process spilling most of it’s contents either on table, floor or her companion Lara.

Lara set enough gold on the table to cover both the drinks and the damage and pulled her friend over to the door of the Stonefire Inn.

“Not,” she said, pushing Brighde through the door of the inn, “when your cousin is also the Thane, and ESPECIALLY not when that same Thane is like two peas in a pod with the Bronzebeard family.”

“BAH!” roared Brighde, stumbling away from the inn and just narrowly missing a headlong tumble into the deep molten slag pilled pit that formed a ring around the inner and outer parts of Ironforge. She stopped, steadying herself with one hand on a nearby wall and turned back to Lara…

“Who cares aboot the Bronzebeards? Ye air nothin’ but a cowaird, she said to her friend with a look that was originally mean to be a look of distain but came out looking more like someone who was trying to figure out why a multi-legged creature was crawling up her arm. The look on Brighde’s face rapidly changed from mock distain to shock as her friend whisked her off her feet and into a nearby darkened corner.

“I CARE about the Bronzebeard’s that’s who,” said Lara.

Now she had Brighde by the color of her hauberk. Lara lowered her voice in a whispered threat just next to Brighde’s ear.

“I’ll thankee not tae speak about me king and ‘is family like that. And do NOT mistake the fact that we are childhood friends fer me willingness tae be called a coward be ye’ or anyone else. Do ye remember what happened th’ last time ye said that?”

Brighde rubbed the back of her neck where a scar still hurt her when it rained.

“Ye snuck up behind me, said Brighde in a level voice. Ye’ would never beat me in a stand up fight”

“A large smile ran across Lara’s face. Of course I would nae beat ye’ in a stand up fight. Why else would I sneak up behind ye?”

“Because yer’ a thief?”

“Well, there is that as well, said Lara patting her old friend on the back. Come lets be off tae yer new house.”

“Me Mothers house,” corrected Brighde. “I still have nae been able tae bring meself tae call it mine….then after a pause she added….God rest Mothairs dear soul.”

Brighde started off down the immense hallway again and started to stumble. Lara steadied her friend and supported her under one arm.

“Come on’ let me help you home, or ye’ will end up fallin’ into the steel of the Great Forge fer sure.”

*************

Brighde and Lara sat at a small table in the front room of her family home that overlooked the mystic ward. Brighde had been there many times for training during her days as a young paladin. Now the house was all to empty – devoid of the family that had once made it a place of such warmth. The pounding of the Great Forge through the halls of Ironforge formed a lovely counterpoint to the pounding in Brighde’s head. The melodious strains of pain where not the only rhythms that filled the morning air. The early morning bustle of people going back to their jobs, carts rolling by on their way to open shops, and gnomes already shouting so all of the breakfast crowd could hear of the marvels of the freshly backed and picked wares. In fact it was the shouting of one particular gnome that set off the pain afresh, which had at least begun to subside.

A gnome in a red dress, over which she wore a white apron stuck her head in the front doorway. This being ironforge, the typical dwelling did not have a front door. Her hair was as red as her dress. She bore loaves of bread in her arms stacked nearly as high as the hair that was piled up on top of her head.

“Loaf of fresh baked bread this morning Miss?” the gnome said with a bright smile.

“No, not today thankyou.”

“What about you Lara?” she said looking just beyond Brighde’s head, which she now held in both of her hands, to the dwarf who just entered the room.

“Not today thank you Farthing.”

“Right you are sir. See ya later,” the gnome Farthing replied brightly and set off in the direction of the commons.

“Here let me fill up your mug again,” Lara said as she tipping the contents of an aging metal container, the bottom of which was scorched by flame, into a large wooden mug that sat abandoned in front of Brighde. The black steaming contents oozed into the mug with a plop.

Brighde looked up at Lara and then stared at the contents of the mug in front of her as she spoke.

“This has got to be the worst coffee I have ever tasted. It tastes like it was run off of my dog’s butt.”

“You don’t have a dog,” said Lara.

“If I had a dog this is coffee is what it would taste like if it was run off his butt.”

“How do you know what coffee tastes like when it is run off of anyone’s butt? said Lara curtly. Have you ever had coffee that has been run off of a butt?"

Brighde moaned again. Looked up at Lara with a pained expression on her face which she promptly buried in her arms on the table.

“It is way too early for this nonsense” she moaned.

“Shut up er’ drink up ye drunken sot. What would the rest o’ members o’ the Silver Hand say if they saw one of their paladins like this?”

Lara’s curt reply was answered only by a groan. Lara poured another cup of the ooze that passed for her coffee and Brighde’s head hit the table with an audible thump.

“Lucky thin’ fer ye that the table was there tae break yer fall eh? I have picked ye up off the floor enough fer one day. Next time ye go out drinkin’ like that I’ll nae be there tae pour ye back into yer bed.”

“What do you mean ‘drinking like that’? came Brighde’s objection. You were there drinking same as I was!”

“Like I said, came Lara’s reply, drinkin’ like that – its no the drinkin’ itself I mind so much as yer inability tae handle the drink in the first place. What kind o’ a dwarf are ye? Me wee sister could drink ye under the table.”

“Don’t be absurd, Yer sister is only 12 years old” groaned Brighde.

“Aye, came the reply, an’ still she kin’ drink ye under the table. An’ so ye are a double disgrace – a disgrace fer not bein’ able tae handle the drink and a disgrace tae our order fer getting’ drunk in the first place.”

The was a long pause as Brighde thought for a moment in silence, her thoughts struggling to pierce the veil of her hangover.

“…OUR order?” she said, puzzlement filled her face as she looked up at her friend bleary eyed.

“aye, you heard what I said. That time ye where shot at with an arrow that nicked yer left ear and narrowly missed turnin’ ye into dwarf shish kabob – who pulled ye out o’ the way?”

“You did, Lara,” came the reply.

“That time ye were chasin’ a kobold across the Swamp of Sorrows an’ ye fell into the bog who pulled ye’ out when ye were nearly a gonner?”

“You did, Lara”

“An’ that time ye’ stopped in to a bar in Ratchet on yer way to the Crossroads, a bar full o’ Taurens I might add, and started yelling “Moo” who pulled ye out o’ the way?”

“Wait a min’, said Brighde bleary eyed, that wasn’t you. I was hit o’er the back o’ the head wi’ a bottle. I woke up in an’ ally.”

“An, just who was it ye’ think hit ya’ in the back o’ the head an’ dragged yer fat carcass out o’ there afore ye were killed dead?”

“Yoo hit me o’er the head wi’ a bottle! Yelled Brighde. Ye dirty….I woke up in an ally. What is wrong wi’ ye?’

“Well if ye’ where a bit more thankful now n’ then, perhaps ye’ would have woken up in the inn instead o’ the ally.”

An angered look crossed Brighde’s face and she rose quickly intending to take what she considered a well deserved swing at her “friend” Lara – only to find herself forced back to her seat just as suddenly but the pain which slammed into her head like a sledgehammer the moment she rose.

“Ye may as well sit down afore ye fall down, said Lara. An’ have another ‘slice’ o’ me coffee, she replied with a smile.”

With that Lara began pouring the strong coffee into the mug in front of Brighde. It was a potent brew that has also been known to take rust off iron swords, deforest small areas of ground of shrubbery, and – as in this case – cure a bad hangover quicker n’ any other remedy known to man or dwarf. It was always a contention amongst the, usually unwilling, recipients of the hangover cure, that most individuals got over the hangover just so they wouldn’t have to continuing imbibing a potion that could otherwise have been used as a slow and particularly cruel form of torture.

“An’ now that ye have finally invited me into yer family home, after all these years, although I can’t say as I was actually invited as ye’ were out cold when I dragged her fat tookas over here from the pub, I can’t say as I admire yer family’s particularly gruesome taste in wall hangins’ either.”

“What? Brighde said looking up hat her friend once again, barely able to lift her head. What the devil are ye talkin’ aboot?”

“That, said Lara pointing with the coffeepot up to an animal head mounted above the nearby fireplace. The druid ye whose ‘ead ye got stuffed n’ mounted up there.”

“Are ye’ daft? exclaimed Brighde in as aggravated a tone as she could manage through the pain. It’s jus’ the head of a lion.”

“A lion eh? Have ye’ no e’er wondered why yer ‘lion’ has horns like that?’

“ I suppose, said Brighde looking up at the mounted head above the fireplace now. On tother hand, who would think it would have fangs like that either. Look at the things. It looks like that thing could eat a ham sandwich through a picket fence.”

“Have ye’ been livin’ under a rock all yer life long,” said Lara?

“Well ya’ said Brighde. We are dwarves an’ this IS Ironforge is it not? O’ course I spent a lot of time livin’ under a rock.”

“An jus’ where did yer ‘lion’ come from me friend?”

“It be somethin’ ma ordered before she died. It came jus’ after I got ‘ere. She wrote me aboot it. Came from some troll or other in Ratchet. She ordered it.”

“well me dear, that no be any lion. THAT be a druid in cat form. Wot is more, that be a Tauren druid.”

[Tor varr]

Hey, I'll say one thing for losing the stories temporarily, I just figured things out about this story I never would have before.

[Brighde]

Originally Posted by Tor varr

Hey, I'll say one thing for losing the stories temporarily, I just figured things out about this story I never would have before.

Oh and what is that? Does the fact that this gave me the opportunity to put it all together in more of a chapter type formate make it easier to read? I do intend on continuing the story. I have a few stressful distractions in real life lately.

[Tor varr]

I was refering to the tauren druid head in Brighde's mother's house, and the fact that Xasxas's father was killed by a dwarf. It sort of led me to put two and two together.

[Brighde]

Ah well lets see if we can add to the little tale of mayhem by introducing more players....

The sea breeze blew across the small village of Revantusk, in the Azerothian Hinterlands. The breeze carried on it a scent of salt and the feint rhythms of steel drums. In the distance Dr. Rashan danced, his feet pounding against the wooden floor of his shanty, not far from the beach where Zola sat, her feet dangling over the edge of the small dock. The gentle breeze blew threw her long red locks, and she kicked her feet absent mindedly in the air as she cast her fishing line once again.

The lure at the end of the line whipped through the air and landed in the midst of a distant school of fish – cast with an accuracy that could have plucked a gnat from a horse’s ear at 30 yards. The same early afternoon sun that gleamed off Zola’s blue troll skin, turned the tiny waves of the ocean into thousands of small lights. Yet it was not difficult for her experienced eyes to pick the bobber out the peaks of the many tiny waves. This time in the afternoon was one of Zola’s favorite.

Not many of the dwarves and humans who came out of the nearby dwarf settlement on Aerie Peak even knew this village was here. The only land passage was down a narrow rock strewn ledge partly hidden in the bracken strewn across the top of the cliff that formed a wall around three sides of the small outcropping of land on which the troll village of Revantusk was located.

Yes, Zola loved this time of the afternoon – the cool ocean breezes. The rhythm of her native music and the peaceful feeling that settled over the village about this time each day. Her eyes, intent on watching the bobber for the telltales signs of a fish nibbling at her line, were distracted by a movement in the distance. A large sea turtle surfaced for a moment, then disappeared once again beneath the waves. A few minutes passed and it surfaced once again with a fish in its mouth…

…which it promptly lost, as well as its head, as the crack of a rifle shot pierced the calm afternoon air.

“You be doin’ the whole thing the ‘ard way” came a familiar voice from behind her.

A smile crossed Zola’s face. Without turning she merely said, “Well there was the whole idea of actually havin’ a fish left after the fishin’ was done.”

“Ya, well it wasn’t the fish I was after anyway, it was the turtle. Ya’ do know how I be lovin’ turtle soup. Nothin’ like it.”

A grimace crossed Zola’s face as she turned to see her oldest friend, Erzuli.

“Well that be the truth, Zola said. And the whole village is more the fortunate for it!”

Erzuli sat down next to Zola, her back against a crate at one side of the dock. Dust covered the green scales of her leather armor which creaked a bit as she shifted and made herself comfortable. Like Zola, Erzuli's hair was red, but was done up in a large Mohawk that seemed to keep its shape, despite the breeze.

“So, Zola said turning back to her attention back to the bobber at the end of the line, where have ya’ been all this time?”

“Just out doin’ a bit of huntin’ is all,” came the offhanded reply.

“Tha’ I can see from the state of yer’ clothes. But ya’ have been gone an awful long time fer a short huntin’ trip.”

Erzuli was about to reply when a sudden wave came washing over the dock. Zola, dressed in shorts and a loose cloth blouse didn’t have much to get wet in the first place. Erzuli, however was soaked but didn’t seem to mind it, taking the whole thing in stride. When the wave subsided, there, in the middle of the deck, stood a scarred boar. Its pink skin contrasting against the armor plates on its back and legs, upon which red symbols had been painted. The armor was dented in many places, looking as if it had seen a lot of use. It’s long tusks where gleaming and sharp, as if they too had seen a lot of use – a lot of very successful use. In it’s mouth was the mangled remains of a very large fish. It looked at Erzuli with a large smile on its face, if indeed boars can be said to smile. This one, most obviously did.

Erzuli simply stared at the boar.

The boar, seemed to realize it had done something wrong and dejectedly let the fish flop onto the wooden deck.

Staring straight at the boar Erzuli spoke to it.

“Did I or did I not tell ya’ we were here fer the turtles an’ not the fish? Did I or did I not tell ya’ ahead of time we were havin’ turtle soup for dinner?”

As oddly anthropomorphic as it seemed, the boar seemed to understand Erzuli. Quickly turning, she jumped off the end of the dock, once again spraying water all over Erzuli and Zola. Zola broke the silence first.

“Ya’ know that never stops bein’ amazin’. I am not sure whether that is creepy or not. Yer’ boar seems ta’ know exactly what you ar’ sayin’ ta her.”

“Well she may understand, said Erzuli, and she may be as tough as old shoe leather, but she is not as smart as they come.”

“Be that as it may, all I am sayin’ is ya certainly do have a way with animals.”

“Ya’ she has been a good friend and companion these many years, and those sharp tusk of hers have saved my own hide many times.”

Zola was about to reply when she was distracted by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the wooden deck behind them. Turning, both woman saw Erzuli’s boar dragging the carcass of a turtle, several times her size across the deck. She dropped it and a big grin crossed her face once again.

“That’s my girl, smiled Erzuli. Good girl.”

The boar started to wiggle her but so hard it appeared as if it would come off. She was obviously delighted to have earned her master’s approval.

“Well, said Erzuli standing up, it seems as if dinner is served. I will see ya’ a bit later.”

With that she slung her rifle across her shoulder. The rifle, unlike her clothes was well polished, its pristine surfaces gleaming in the sun. Erzuli waved and turned away from her friend. As she did the ever present tassel which always hung from the stock of her rifle slapped against the leather of her clothes. Unlike the pristine rifle, the tassel seemed old and worn.

“Why do ya’ keep that smelly old thing around?” Zola called after Erzuli, who stopped and turned back to her.

“Now that’s now way ta’ be talkin’ about me dear pet boar.”

“Not your boar, that thing ya’ got hangin’ from your rifle….that smelly old lion tail.”