A slow re-awakening

"Mirshalak!"

An unknown voice violated my unconsciousness. I moved away from it, mentally; I didn't want to wake up, yet. Oblivion was warm, safe; peaceful.

"Mirshalak!"

The voice called again. I had no idea whose it was, but somehow I realised it would not leave me alone.

I opened my eyes. There were what felt like tree branches stuck in my back. I didn't know where I was; I couldn't remember how I'd got here, or even why I'd ended up unconscious in the first place. I didn't know how long I'd been out, but something told me it was a long time. The land was barren; a few dead trees, but not much else.

I struggled up into a standing position. I'd been lying in the open; my tent wasn't far away. My first thought was to whistle for the boar. It took a few minutes, but he came running. He was thinner than I'd almost ever seen him, and mangy; but he was alive, and thrilled to see me. For the moment, that was enough.

I got to my feet, somehow packed up the tent, found a nearby track, and began to stumble along it. I'd need supplies; fortunately I still had a bit of gold, somehow. I didn't know how it hadn't been stolen.

I wasn't sure how long I walked for; I was still in something of a daze, but eventually I came to what looked like an inn, of Orcish architecture. I was glad; I needed something familiar, and was in no shape to fight.

I went inside, to find an old Orcish woman tending bar, and occasionally fussing around the fire. Nobody else seemed to be around, but for that I was glad.

"Ancestors, you look like the walking dead!" she said to me. "Where did you stumble in from?"

"I woke up at a camp site up the road," I pointed vaguely outside in the direction I had come.

The woman's eyes narrowed briefly, but then she shrugged, and gave a gutteral laugh.

"I'm guessing you'll want some boar meat," she suggested.

I nodded wearily, and reaching into my old pouch, brought out a couple of gold coins. "And some hot cider."

She laughed again at that. "Yes, you look like you could use it!"

A few minutes later, I took a couple of halting mouthfuls of the cider. The spices were welcome; the heat felt like it was literally bringing life back into my body. As I ate, I asked the old woman for recent news.

"There's all kinds of chaos going on," she answered. "Most are still trying to find our feet and get things back together, after the Cataclysm."

"The what?" I asked.

She narrowed her eyes again, for a longer moment this time.

"Where have you been, that you don't know about that?"

I shook my head. "I wish I knew. But what can you tell me about it?"

She sighed, and began to talk. My eyes widened at some of the details, and as I listened, I realised that things had apparently become very interesting.

A reunion

(This is a belated reply to Pike's, "There Was One She Still Missed.")

--

I was stripping the corpses of my most recent Undead kills in Sholazar, looking for scraps of the valuable cloth they had, which I could sell, when I noticed the gorilla with me was hungry again. Reaching into my pack, I carelessly threw him a banana, and continued.

As I worked, I realised that I wasn't close to the gorilla at all. It wasn't really fair of me; he was a good pet, and his ground shaking ability knocked down many of the Undead at once, and made them easier to hunt. I could tell that he was unhappy that I had not really bonded with him, as well.

I had also tamed a cat recently, as well. Her teeth and claws were sharp, and she was the pet I took when I hunted with others, although if I was honest, I only really took her to impress the other people I was with. There was a stronger connection with her than with the gorilla, but not much.

Thinking of this, my mind suddenly went back to my boar, and as it did, my head lowered involuntarily in grief and shame.

The boar was the greatest pet I had ever owned. My parents had been boar farmers, and he had been a gift from them to me, as a tiny piglet, on the day of my Rite of Choosing, when it was discovered that I was to be a Hunter, only a bare few months before we left Draenor. He had stayed with me during the Crossing to Azeroth, and the Blood-induced chaos which followed. We had grown up together.

During the most glorious days of my life, in Ashenvale, when I had fought with the Warsong Outriders, against the Silverwings, the boar had been with me then. He had helped me win countless victories.

When we were alone, in Desolace, in my youth, and suddenly a Night Elf rogue would be upon me, and there was no other help for miles, the boar would be between me and them, taking their blows upon himself, so that I could fight them off and save us both. He would be grievously injured sometimes, after those fights; I had to spend hours bandaging him. Yet he never hesitated to do it, as many times as was necessary.

And for this service, for his sharing of my victories, and my losses, and his protection of me with his life; for his having spent most of his entire existence with me, I had rewarded him...

...by abandoning him in a wooden cage, to rot.

At that thought, I knew I had to get him out. I hearthed back to Dalaran, where the sun was just in the process of slipping down below the horizon. I stabled the gorilla, and had been about to go and get the boar out, when I heard the sound, coming from the next stall.

It wasn't the usual squealing or grunting. It was a long, slow, keening wail. I hadn't heard it since my childhood; I used to hear it during my parents' work. It was the sound a pig made right before it went to the slaughter, when it knew its' life was about to end. It was filled with grief.

I went back out, and looked at the Blood Elf stablemistress.

"He has been making that noise ever since you left him here," she said to me. "Every single night, for months. In all of the years I've worked here, I've never seen an animal so unhappy."

I went back and let him out. There was a pause, as I don't think he believed it was really me, and then he leapt at me, snorting, snuffling, grunting, and licking my face, his own face still wet with his tears, which after a few moments, mingled with my own. The stablemistress smiled at us both.

"I gather you'll be taking him with you?" She asked me.

I looked down at the boar, who was still running in circles over the fact that I was back, and nodded to her, smiling myself now.

We went back to Sholozar together, and fought some more Undead for their cloth. I had to go a bit more slowly with him than with the cat or gorilla, but I didn't mind.

There were, so people told me, more formidable pets than a boar. Pet types which were fiercer, had claws. My boar, like me, also wasn't getting any younger, and there would come a time when we were both too old to hunt any more.

I could accept that. For a Hunter, a pet wasn't just another weapon. Most of the time, it was the only other company we had. A pet ideally was an extension and mirroring of your own soul.

A companion.

Others could say there were more effective fighting pets if they wished. The boar was mine, and we would die together, as we had lived together. As we sat together after nightfall, when I'd made camp in a safer part of Sholozar, I swore to him that I would never forsake him again.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Sku7dlHnJU

Wrath Gate

(RP mode enabled. I started this months ago, after only just having finished the Wrath Gate questline, but just finished it this morning)

I could still barely understand what had happened. There hadn't been enough time.

We had not long finished securing Icemist Village and the Pit of Nar'jun. The Nerubian city had not completely been secured; that would take some time. The induction of the Taunka into the Horde had gone well, however, with much cheering when their chieftan took our oath. Though there was no need, I willingly, joyously, retook it again, myself, with him.

After this, Angmar, the local commander, gave me a task I could scarcely believe. I was to report to Warlord Saurfang the Younger at the Wrath Gate, to take part in the Icecrown offensive.

As well as our progress at Icemist, I'd heard good things from other parts of the Dragonblight, and my mood riding up to the Kor'kron Vanguard was optimistic, and eager; almost elated.

I had no idea what was coming. None of us did.

After killing some lesser Scourge, the human Highlord, Bolvar Fordragon, demanded that Arthas show himself. At his appearance, Saurfang charged him, and was killed, his soul being drawn into Frostmourne. Arthas began to repeat an earlier claim, that any attempt to stop him was pointless. Suddenly he cut off, in midsentence.

Then came the event which none of us could have anticipated.

Putress, Grand Apothecary of the Forsaken, a figure unheard of by many of us, stood on the cliffs overlooking our position. After calling down death on both the Scourge and the living, the catapults which stood next to him were fired. Catapults containing a Blight which, spirits help me, I had assisted the Forsaken in creating.

We then, all of us, fell to our knees, overwhelmed with a green mist. Gasping, coughing blood, my lungs on fire, I followed the mad scramble away from the terrible cloud, as both Horde and Alliance commanders called a retreat. Having been right at the front, Bolvar was caught at the centre of the blast from the catapults, and was bathed in the poison. When he fell, he did not get up again.

Somehow, however, even in the confusion, I managed to burn one very important image into my mind. As we had fallen to our knees, coughing and hacking, so had Arthas.

After staggering back the few meters that I could, I fell to the ground. I expected to die as had Bolvar.

When I came to, the ground around me was ablaze. The red dragonflight had purged the cloud by fire, and everyone else had run. I was uncertain how I had not been burned alive, but standing near me in human form, was their Queen, Alexstraza.

She bade me take Saurfang's armor from the flames, and back to his father at Warsong Hold. The ride back was long, and I still do not remember most of it. I was still in a daze, almost sleepwalking. Saurfang...

His father's face, on hearing my news, contorted with agony, and on seeing it, so did my own heart. Yet it only lasted a second, and he told me to leave the armor with him, where it would be taken to a pyre in Nagrand. Unbelievably, he then told me that he had to return to more pressing matters.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to rave that nothing was more pressing than the death of his own flesh and blood; the death of another of our greatest heroes.

Yet something held me back. It was the realisation that he was right. That forcing our minds away from what had happened, did not mean that we did not feel the agony that had been caused by it.

We would mourn Saurfang. There would be drumming at that funeral that would shake Nagrand to the very bedrock, and the cheers of our ancestors around Oshu'gun, as he joined them, would be heard by us all. The more pressing matter, then, was vengeance.

Arthas, in his arrogance, apparently was unaware that, even more than ever before, with this act, he had truly called down the full fury of the Horde upon his head; a fury that Mannaroth the Destructor had not been able to withstand. Arthas would be made aware.

I was not intimidated by Arthas. He bragged about how we were powerless to stop him, yet what he apparently also did not realise, was that we very nearly already had. Did he really think, that if he were so unstoppable, we would be able to reach his very gates? His so-called invasion had been stopped in its' tracks. His command structure had been taken apart, piece by piece.

We also did this even without the Blight, and I had known, even before the Blight, that we would find the means, we would push his supposedly unstoppable army back, and we would crush him, just as we had the Legion before him. Saurfang's death, as had the insult of the invasion of Orgrimmar, rather than intimidating us, had merely enraged us further. Garrosh, always the son of his father, was right. Let the Forsaken have the Blight, and the Humans the Ashbringer. We had the fury of the Horde, and we needed nothing else.

The most urgent matter at that moment, however, was Varimathras. Saurfang pointed me to a portal to Orgrimmar that a Sin'dorei Mage had opened for me, and I went through it.

Arriving at his fortress, I watched the tense pacing of the Warchief. Then another portal opened, from Stormwind, and through it came Lady Jaina Proudmoore; who had come to learn the truth of what had happened, for she and Thrall had signed a non-aggression pact some time earlier.

I listened to her words, standing silently next to Thrall.

"...Farewell, Warchief. I pray that the next time we meet it will be as allies."

As she turned to leave, back through the portal, I spoke, hesitantly at first.

"My Lady?"

She turned back to face me.

"I have just come from the Wrath Gate," I explained to her. "I witnessed Lord Bolvar's death, alongside that of Saurfang the Younger. His last words to Arthas were spoken with courage. Know that there are some among the Horde who mourn him with you."

At this, she smiled.

"However, I fear I must speak other words, which perhaps will not be as easy to hear," I continued. Thrall looked at me gravely, but I went on.

"I know well who the primary antagonist is for war between our two peoples, Lady Proudmoore, and so I must ask that when you tell your King of the betrayal of Varimathras, that you also tell him this:-

Firstly, that you, and not he, are who is recognised by me at least, and I suspect, in his heart, also my Warchief, as sole ruler of the Human kingdoms, and true leader of the Grand Alliance. I may not be one of his subjects, but still I do not acknowledge the right of Varian Wrynn to be King, even if the right is his by birth. He is not fit for the throne; there is much he has not seen, and much he does not know, and I can only thank our ancestors that it was you, Lady Proudmoore, who guided the Alliance during the battle with Archimonde, for if it had been Varian, his madness and hatred would have led to the death of us all. He desires to make war on us from the basis of ignorance.

Secondly, tell him that I tire of war between our two peoples more than most, and that right now, I am aware that it is a greater danger to us than Arthas himself. I spent my entire childhood under the influence of the Blood Fury of Mannaroth the Destructor. Like most of us, I have killed many Humans, but I am haunted constantly by the shame and agony of it, and I will kill no more of your people; save one, if it becomes necessary.

Tell him that on the very throne behind me that my Warchief sits on, I take oath now as I have never taken it before. Tell him that Mirshalak of the Warsong Outriders, and the Frostwolf Legion, has sworn that if peace between our two peoples does not come through the life of Varian Wrynn, then I will see to it personally that peace will come through his death. I would do this to ensure the survival of both Human and Orc, for I well know that the destiny of both of our peoples is interlinked, and without the one, the other will not survive. He may choose for peace to come with him, or without him, but either way, peace will come."

Jaina's expression grew stern.

"You threaten the life of our King? If peace between us is what you desire, Mirshalak, I do not think that this is the way to obtain it."

She continued. "Also, in seeking to have me as Queen, you do not know what you ask. That is a position which I have never desired, and I do not desire it now. I have sought to lead my people with the heaviest of hearts, and from necessity only. My Art is my one true love, though for a time it was rivalled by Arthas..."

Here her voice broke, and her face twisted with long-held, but still unhealed grief. I felt empathy for her pain. She was a virtuous woman, and few there were within the Alliance, for whom I had that opinion, or such feeling. I could even almost imagine the Humans as one day being members of the Horde themselves, if they were under her rule.

She recovered. "But no more. I understand your sentiment, Mirshalak, but I can not bear such a message to the King openly. Even if, as you say, I might reluctantly percieve that it would be better for the Alliance for me to rule in Varian's place, I am not as popular as I once was, and do not have his degree of support. To move against him directly at this point, therefore, would mean my head. I also would not usurp him, even if I could. The throne is his by birth."

"We could help you," I said, looking pleadingly to Thrall. "Once Varian was gone, we could take Stormwind and give it to you."

She went on. "In the current climate, I am almost an outcast for still desiring peace with you. The desire for war within the Alliance is more far reaching than you know. My people have regained their numbers, to a degree, and now some of them wish for what they see as vengeance."

Her expression changed to one of deep sorrow. "A new war between Human and Orc may at this point be inevitable. I desire it no more than you. I remember what was won at Hyjal, as well as any; and how narrowly, and at what great cost. I will pray to the Light that all of that is not undone, and will do what I can to prevent it, but I am only one voice now, Mirshalak, and I am at risk of being drowned out in a sea of others."

With this, she departed through the portal, back to Stormwind. My gaze turned back to Thrall.

"You have a great tendency to be outspoken, Mirshalak," he said to me sternly. "What you said to Lady Proudmoore then, could have cost us enormously."

"It needed to be said, Warchief," I answered him. "Did I lie to her when I said that for her to rule the humans, was the desire of your heart also?"

Thrall sighed with exasperation at this, and did not speak. I grinned. I had seen Thrall's spirit, and that was why I still admired him, when I knew now that many did not.

"Hellscream has taken command almost entirely in Northrend, Warchief," I continued. "This worries me greatly. He desires war almost as much as those within the Alliance do. There are many who interpret the loss of your fight with him, as his successfully deposing you as leader."

Thrall growled. "Do you think I do not know that? While you advocated treason among the Alliance, would you now also among the Horde?"

"Never, Warchief," I answered him. "When I took the oath to the Taunka, and had them swear it, I retook it myself as well, and I meant every word. My life is yours, and not because it must be, but because I choose it."

I continued. "In one respect however, and one respect only, I concede that Garrosh was right. Peace has not been exclusively good for us. In seeking to become more, "civilised," in order to please the Humans, we have become soft; and some of us more than others." I looked at him meaningfully at this point.

He roared. "You go too far!"

My eyes stayed level with his, the flame in them just as high.

"Garrosh went further! Also, I assure you, that however traitorous my words might sound now, there are others of us on the field, whose thoughts are far moreso! You still have my loyalty, as I have said, and as difficult as it may be for you to understand, that is why I say what I do right now. I would see you as Warchief, and no other, but in order for that, there are things that you must hear, like them or not."

Thrall's voice lowered in his next reply, but was still dangerous. "Then what would you have me do?"

"I would have you train," I answered him simply. "I would have you fight. I would have you remember what it means to be an Orc! The Humans taught you that our bloodlust was a bad thing. I tell you that right now, it is something you need to experience! I would have you go to Hellscream, and give him a beating such as he has never had before, and never will again. I would have you beat him such that he must either yield to you or die. And I would have you echo to him what Saurfang the Elder has already said; that if he gives in to depravity as his father did before him, and threatens to lead us down a similar dark path with the Humans again, that in order to preserve both our people and his own soul, you will kill him."

Thrall's anger diminished at this, and I could see that he was aware that I really was on his side. After a few moments, he laughed.

"Good advice, although you endangered your own life in the giving of it," he said.

I grinned. "I should hope so. Now you are remembering our way, not what you have been taught by the Humans."

He gestured to the portal to the Undercity. "Come with me to fight Varimathras, and I will show you that I have not forgotten to perhaps quite the extent you think. And perhaps, in time, I will remind Hellscream as well, as you have said."

The Lost One

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

-- Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus; from the Statue of Liberty.

I was riding through northeastern Zul'Drak, in the early evening. It should rightfully have been considered a horrible place, with savage, biting cold, the mad remnants of the Drakkari, and the ever-present threat of being overrun with Scourge. Still, I found that somehow, I was able to like it.

I'd come here hunting the local raptors; their skins were more highly prized at the bazaar in Dalaran than most, and I was sorely in need of extra money, of late. However, as I was about to look for another raptor, I noticed a Tauren male who had already begun fighting one, only 30 yards or so in front of me.

He was a young bull. I could immediately tell from the speed of his movements and the lack of scars on his arms. It reminded me of old Tarukhe, and what he must have been like, at that age.

The Hunt was a thing of great wonder for the young, and they threw themselves into it with all the extra energy that came with their youth. It was, therefore, the most dangerous part of any Hunter's career, I realised ruefully, chuckling. Hunters who survived the taking of their first few beasts, generally slowed down and learned more respect for their prey.

This young one's fight began to go badly. Although he fired the rapid succession of smaller, lighter arrows that were a signature of the Beast school, for reasons that he could not understand, it was to no avail. The shots were deflected by the raptor's tough hide, and it continued its' attack.

The raptor had let much blood out of both him and his wolf, and as they panted with exhaustion, closed in for the kill. No doubt the creature thought he would be eating royally tonight, and that this prey would be the envy of the rest of his pack.

I rapidly drew one of the new black powder tipped arrows that we had recently learned to make, lit the fuse with a stone I carried for the purpose, and fired it at the raptor's feet, blowing a hole in the stone of the ruins. The beast was stunned momentarily, turned, looked at me, kicked both the Tauren and his wolf to the ground, and then ran off.

After a moment, the Tauren pulled himself up into a sitting position, but then simply sat for a long while. There was a look of confusion, shock, and great pain on his face, and as I watched, his dark eyes slowly filled with tears, and he began weeping, bellowing out his agony to the stars.

I understood, and averted my eyes, allowing him his dignity. This was not caused by the slashes which the raptor's claws had opened on his arms. This was from something far deeper.

The Hunters of Azeroth and Draenor had, over the course of many ages, discovered and refined three unique forms in which we could fight and hunt.

These were the way of the Beast, which allowed greater communion with animals, and which had traditionally been the first path of our young, as this Tauren was. They had grown to be called the Beast Masters. These had been the most numerous of the three, and their leader within the Hunters' Guild on Azeroth was a fierce and hot tempered, yet very wise and aged Dwarf, with an enormous red beard. His name was Briac.

There was also the way of the Bow, which my Draenei friend Romochka followed; they were called the Marksmen, due to their greater skill with the bow than the rest of us. The Marksmen were still great in number, but despite this, they had little formal representation within the Hunters' Guild. As such, Romochka had come to be recognised as master among them, although reluctantly, and he did not like it when others mentioned this.

Finally, there was the third path, of which I myself had been a native for many years. This was for those of us who embraced both of the above, but who, in addition, had developed a greater ability and will to avoid death. Because of this, we came to be called the Survivalists, and we had traditionally been the rarest of the three. The greatest of our elders, Arland, had simply walked away into the wilderness one day, never to be heard from again.

Followers of all three forms had various abilities which, not only kept us alive and allowed us to fight, but also literally defined who we were, and our sense of identity. When these abilities suddenly ceased to be reliable, we either died, or we experienced the kind of torment which the young Tauren before me was now. Our relationship with our animals, our prey, and the very land itself came into question.

I knew that the young Tauren's confusion and pain were due to this. He had been taught to fight in a particular way, and that if he did so, he would be successful. This had ceased to be true, and as a result, he doubted himself terribly. He had not learned anything else, but now, due to the strange curse which had recently befallen the Beast Masters, he would need to embrace another way.

As I considered what I was about to do, I was reminded of something else. I remembered the pain I had experienced, when in a meeting of the Hunters' Guild, I had finally been cast out. I remembered the Beast Masters' constant taunting and jeering of those of my form, about how we were inferior and always would be. I knew that this was partly why Arland had walked away, and another of our elders, Rakan, had gone back to his home in Desolace, to resume his life as a mystic. I also remembered how savagely yet another of us, Mekhilosio, had been attacked, when he described how he had been able to help others.

I knew that I could respond to this young Tauren now, as many of those of his form had often responded to me and mine, for years without stopping; with laughter, mockery, and insults. The time had come when I could repay cruelty for cruelty, and gloating for gloating. I could kick him when he was down, and in his current state, break his spirit such that he would no longer want to live at all. I had felt much anger towards many of his form before, and for a time, at least, I possibly could have deluded myself that to do that would have been an act of justice.

I also knew, however, that such was not the Survival way, but in fact, the direct opposite of it. That of everything else we might have known, there was ultimately nothing more important in the preservation of our own lives, and that of others, than compassion.

To be a true Survivalist was to be an outcast. It had always been that way. The Beast Masters and Marksmen carried some legitimacy, both in the eyes of each other, and in the rest of Azeroth and Draenor; but us, never. We were the dreamers, the insane; ridiculed, kicked, and spat on.

More than anything else, our path had required broad shoulders, thick skin, and a realisation that to be Survival was to be alone; but it was also to follow your conscience and your own identity. It wasn't something that was done because it was easy, or painless, or beautiful, because it was none of these. It was, however, something that was done for the love of it, despite all of the abuse we received.

And so, taking a deep breath, and closing my own eyes for a few seconds, I gathered together all of the pain that they had ever caused me...and let it go.

When the young Tauren had regained his composure, his vision was suddenly partly obscured by an open green hand. He took it, and I hauled him to his feet.

"What is your name, son of the Horde?" I asked him.

"Caurmahe," he answered. "I do not understand why it is now so much harder for me to kill my prey. They used to fall easily, but now they go from my wolf to me, and it is all we can do to avoid being eaten by them."

I offered him my shoulder, and his wolf began to limp along next to my cat as well, in the direction of the nearest settlement. The Argent Crusaders there would no doubt have a healer among them, who could take care of him for a few days.

"Well, Caurmahe," I replied, as we walked. "Did any of those who you spoke to, mention that we have traps which can produce fire, as well as frost and ice?"

Northrend, and war

We had been fools, I realised ruefully.

I stood on the north coast of Durotar, near the zeppelin tower, looking out to sea; perhaps ten feet from the waterline. One of my hands played with the boar's mane thoughtfully, as a few other strands of it moved back and forth in the sea breeze.

We thought we could maintain the status quo indefinitely.

If not true peace with the Humans, then at least a state of cold war, on a few, isolated fronts, while we continued to strengthen our position on Kalimdor, and hopefully, gradually improve diplomatic relations with Stormwind. We thought the Forsaken had set themselves a fool's quest, and that we would not have to worry about them recreating the Plague, because surely it was impossible.

We were wrong on both counts.

I shook my head, as I realised the folly of it. Grom Hellscream would never have approved of that. Peace was not the way of our people; truthfully it had never been, even before the Blood. Varian Wrynn might have been driven mad himself by hate, but he was right about that, at least.

My own admiration for the Warchief was second only to that which I felt for Hellscream himself, but although my fists clenched when I thought of Garrosh raising a hand against Thrall, I had to grudgingly acknowledge that in one respect, he had been right.

Peace had not been good for us. Guilt had softened us. Made us fat, lazy, and complacent. In seeking to preserve us, and keep us from extinction, Thrall had threatened to change the very nature of our people, and in a way, that would have been extinction as well.

To be sure, there had been the Legion campaign to keep us busy, but in truth, the demons had never been as big a threat as we had once feared. It was only their sheer numbers which really made them dangerous, and for a clever general, there are ways around numerical advantage. Once we had taken their measure, it had simply been a gruelling test of our endurance, and the main form of war that I had learned to fight was a seige.

The Legion's other major weakness was that it had a clear chain of command, which, once we discovered, we were able to eliminate the major elements of. The rest of the demons, due to this, had now largely been reduced to a mindless, wandering state.

And Illidan? Ha! The Betrayer, one of the princes of the Kel'dorei, in the end reduced to nothing, as I had anticipated he would be. Even with the Skull of Gul'dan, he was still a Night Elf; a member of the most contemptible race that had ever set foot on either of the two worlds. Although, I reflected, smiling fondly as I thought not only of Nariyya, but of one other fellow Hunter I knew, and the former head of our order, some few of them had proven themselves.

I realised that I had hungered for peace myself, without even knowing it. I was gradually moving past fighting age, and as one becomes an old Orc, and the call of the grandfathers slowly grows louder, the fire in our blood burns down to embers. Then we seek peace, for ourselves at least, and a secure place of solitude, where we can sit and dream of past victories, until the time of our rejoining with the earth comes.

This thought made me think again, with worry, of Varian Wrynn, the resurgent king of the Humans. He was still young, and impulsive, and sought war with us for no sound reason other than his own hatred.

Ordinarily the thought of resumed conflict with the Alliance, if distasteful to me, would not have been considered a dire matter. However, with the resurgence of the Lich King as a threat, having to fight a war on two fronts would not go well for us.

Wrynn did not have to be a huge problem. Most of the desire for war among the Alliance came from the king himself, and if he could be assassinated, and even more, if it could appear that we were not responsible for it, the Alliance could still be led to peace. In war with us, the Alliance would be in a similar position, fighting on two fronts, which I knew they would not enjoy.

For all their triumphalism and bravado, the Humans were a weak race. During the First and Second Wars, Blackrock Spire itself was really the first time they had presented us with any significant challenge. Before then, we had simply been chasing a stampede of terrified cattle; we might have been driven mad by the Blood, but they were driven equally mad with fear.

It was no war. It was a massacre, and that, in truth, was the real reason why many of us felt guilt for it. There is no honour in fighting an opponent who is too weak and pathetic to be able to defend themselves, and up until Blackrock Spire, that is what the Humans were.

And now, that the Legion campaign had been carried, as much as by anyone else, on the Orcish back, in our weakened state, when Orgrimmar had also been shattered by the Lich King's initial assault, like a true Human, the cowardly upstart Wrynn had seen his chance to strike.

Although the Warchief might have slain him, I always felt that Aedelas Blackmoore embodied the true spirit of the Alliance; a woman beater, a traitor, and a drunk, who even while committing his sins, insisted that he was a child of the Light. I saw that spirit alive and well in Varian Wrynn.

So we would go to Northrend. I relished the thought of uncovering new ground, and stalking new prey, but at the thought of the Lich King, in truth, my slowly aging bones ached.

When you have seen enough battles, you eventually get a sense of which will be fast, and effortless, and which will not. I could already sense that the Northrend campaign would be long and arduous. Arthas, I felt, would prove a maniacal, but still dogged opponent, and then we had his spiritual brother, Wrynn, to deal with as well. It would not be easy.

More of the story

(I know it's late, but here is a little more of the story I started earlier. I also know it breaks off in a slightly sudden place. I have another fight sequence planned, but I'm not sure where else to go after that, so I will need to think on it a bit more before updating again)

Chapter 4

After we'd woken, I told Nariyya that we would first be going to Shattrath. I needed some more ammunition, and porting was also much faster than travelling back and forth directly, which ordinarily would take days. The trip ordinarily would have taken us days from my customary home in the Charred Vale, but I knew an old Mage who lived in nearby Stonetalon, who could speed things up for us.

When we arrived in Stonetalon, after a few minutes I was able to find the Mage and ask him for a portal. He haggled playfully for a few moments as he always did, but then after handing him the usual few gold, he cast the portal spell and waved.

I turned to see Nariyya eyeing the portal a little nervously.

"Come on," I told her. "It's safe."

I went through, and she followed after.

I mentally admitted, during the few seconds of travel time, however, that it wasn't something I ever really got used to, myself. The portal took us through the Twisting Nether as a shortcut to different places, and although somehow we were protected, there were times when I could see the demons that lived there, and the red, chaotic environment that they inhabited. They were never up close, always in the distance, but at times it was still unnerving.

When we landed in Shat, I turned and asked Nariyya if she'd seen them. Apparently she had, because she was sitting on the ground and shivering, her face white. I didn't know what to tell her; I wanted to empathise, but at the same time, I realised that this was something she was going to have to get used to. I decided to go with telling her a story.

"I still see them, when I use portals at times.

It reminds me of when the Dark Portal initially re-opened, and I was first finding my feet in Outland. I was part of one of the early small, five man assaults on the ramparts of the Fel Orcs' fortress, barely a league up a wide, demon-infested dirt road from the Portal itself, and the chaotic, ramshackle beachhead that we and the Humans had been scrambling to set up. That was another funny thing; although it was never officially mentioned, the day the Portal re-opened was really the day when the war between us and the Humans ended, out of necessity. Not all of us liked it that way, but with the Burning Legion, we all had much bigger problems.

I didn't know the other members of the squad I was with, and in hindsight that was a mistake. It was a group that had been put together quickly. We were young and stupid; we didn't realise that although we'd seen it all on Azeroth, what was left of Draenor was a different nightmare entirely. The Fels were happy to bring us up to speed.

They slaughtered three of us inside the first five minutes, and I still don't completely understand how the other two of us made it out alive. It was the usual sort of mad scramble in such situations, with the other three reduced to smashed, shredded dog meat on hot stone, and the two of us left, running hard through a red haze for the stairs back down to the ground, the stench of entrails and tainted Orc blood that strong in our nostrils that it was a wonder we were able to breathe.

I didn't go back to Outland for a while after that. I returned to Azeroth and trained hard for close to six months, spending a heap on gear as well. When I went back to the Peninsula, I was able to hold my own, though barely at first.

However, lesson learned. Never underestimate the enemy, and never overestimate yourself."

Nariyya stood, calmer now, and nodded. I put a hand on her shoulder.

"It gets a bit easier, with time. You'll still see things that mess with your head, but we find ways to cope. Other than when we're hunting animals, the different types of sentient prey start to blend together until it's all the same, in the end. Different strats, different internals, and different politics maybe; but those are details."

Nariyya looked around. We'd landed in the central chamber of the city. It was a big place, with the Naaru leader, A'dal, floating above us in the centre.

The Naaru were a race of acorporeals who'd arrived in Outland a while back, and had helped the Draenei evac from Argus, after most of the latter race got recruited by the Legion. The Naaru were alledgedly the light to the Legion's darkness, but privately, I didn't trust them; hadn't from the moment they first showed up. I'd seen too many people get killed from taking supposed beings of light at face value, to make that mistake.

Then when we got word not long ago that one of them, M'uru, had gone rogue, I'd mentally said, "I told you so," to nobody in particular. If anything about that incident had surprised me, it had actually been that they'd taken so long to reveal their less socially acceptable side.

Still, I had to grudgingly admit that they had done some genuine good. The reconstruction of Quel'Danas was ahead of schedule, and had been proceeding very smoothly, and Lower City had also become a haven for refugees from throughout both of the two worlds, under Ad'al's watch.

Besides, I'd lived fairly intimately with the idea that no one was perfect. If the Naaru were able to help us get rid of the Legion now, that was fine. If they in turn needed to be disposed of, later on down the road, we'd cross that bridge when we came to it.

I led Nariyya over to a specialist arrow vendor, not far from the landing site for my hearthstone, and told her to get her stone set for there as well. My decision to ally with the Scryers had been purely practical; some of the stuff they offered was what I wanted. I assumed the Draenei wouldn't like me much anyway, being an Orc, so I wasn't losing much there either way.

After we'd finished buying arrows and a few other things, I went looking for another Mage. This time, we needed a portal to Stonard, the settlement near the ruins I was planning to take Nariyya to, for some more serious practice.

Chapter 5

Landing in Stonard, I always found the change in temperature jarring. This area was a green, dense swamp; hot and humid. It was Dire Troll country, with dragonkin, crocs, and Murlocs on the coasts, and other, worse things swimming deep in the warm, brown water.

Mounting up, I told Nariyya to do the same, and we rode to the coast of the large, central lake at the center of the zone.

On reaching it, Nariyya pointed to the upper part of a ruined stone ziggurat. The rest had sunk; it was the only part that was visible above the waterline.

"Is that where we're going?"

"Yes," I answered her. "Truthfully, I've been to more dangerous places, but it will be fine for our purposes today. I've been able to make money stripping the corpses of the Trolls that inhabit this place, as well. It turns out that tailors are able to salvage the cloth."

We swam over to the entrance, and as we were making our way down the stairs, my tone with her became more serious.

"When I told you that we are hated by those of other paths, it is primarily because they are unable to clearly identify what our purpose as a Hunter is. This is because, in truth, we borrow elements from all of the others, and combine them together. You will see me doing this before we've finished today, and perhaps, you will have begun to do it yourself."

We swam through the half-flooded first room, and stood in the second. I pointed to some of the green stone that the temple was built of.

"When you look around this place, how do you feel?" I asked Nariyya. "Don't try to analyse or rationalise your answer. Tell me the first thing that comes into your mind."

Nariyya paused for a moment, reflecting. "It is very old."

She shuddered. "It is also a little frightening."

I steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. "We're safe here. I want you to try something else, though. Close your eyes, and this time, try to imagine that rather than being solid, your body is made of smoke. Now, in your imagination, move your smoke body inside the wall in front of us. Slowly become part of that wall with your smoke body, and as you do, imagine that you can feel all along the walls of the temple, in the same way that you can normally feel your arms and legs."

Nariyya took a few deep breaths, then closed her eyes, and began to focus. After a few seconds, she grimaced, opened her eyes, and spoke in a loud, shocked whisper.

"By Elune! I could actually feel the creatures that live here!"

"Yes," I smiled at her. "Creatures leave tracks that we can see with our eyes, of course, and that can be valuable as well. On a stone floor, however, that can be difficult. Later on, you'll find that this ability becomes like another sense, and is available to you all the time. This is one of the abilities that we borrow from the Shaman. You can talk to them when we get back to Shattrath, as some of them come to the Hunters' Guild to teach us the small amount that we learn from their path."

Her eyes shone in awe, and we continued walking.

"What was the purpose of this place?" Nariyya asked me as we walked.

"It is a temple of Hakkar, a God who the Trolls worshipped, long ago," I answered her. "Hakkar originally had a body, here in our world, but the Trolls eventually realised his true nature, and most of them turned against him, forcing his spirit to flee. Those who remained loyal to him fled from the Troll homeland in Lordaeron, and eventually built this temple, where they planned to resurrect him.

When Ysera, one of the great Dragons, discovered the temple, she caused it to sink in order to try and stop them. She failed, however, and the Trolls still make occasional attempts to revive Hakkar. I was in an expedition that stopped them, once."

I paused, reflecting. "At the time, that was a very challenging fight for me. I was younger, then."

"Are we going to stop them again ourselves?" Nariyya asked me.

"No," I answered her. "We're going to stick to the upper levels only, today. The high priests are at the very bottom. If we do that, they will not know we are here."

After that point, we began encountering some of the temple's inhabitants. The first several fights were minor, with the Trolls in groups of two or three. The boar typically killed one of them, with Nariyya shooting the other, and me killing the third.

Eventually we came to another staircase where I stopped, closing my eyes and reaching out mentally in the way I'd taught Nariyya earlier. I could sense five figures about to come down the stairs; three Trolls, and two of the small imps they kept as slaves.

When I opened my eyes, Nariyya had moved to one side of the staircase, and crouched down.

"You sensed them too, then?" I whispered to her. She nodded.

"Time to show you another trick," I whispered to her. Kneeling down and reaching quietly into my pack, I took out a handful of small metal sheets and screws, quickly assembled a trap, and lightly poured a small amount of water on the trigger. I then closed my eyes again, but with a different purpose this time.

I visualised the snowy mountains of Alterac, and one of the great ice elementals who lived there. Kneeling before him, I asked for his aid. He consented, and I heard Nariyya gasp as my breath turned to mist for a moment, and the water I had offered the elemental froze solid.

Opening my eyes, I saw the Trolls beginning to walk down the stairs. Pulling a small, dull dagger from a supply of them in my backpack, I threw it at one of them, and then jumped back as they ran towards me. A second one stepped on the trap, and an ice slick began to rapidly cover the stairs, slowing the second and third Trolls' approach.

I asked the boar to attack the two imps, and he gathered them together, biting first one of them, and then the other.

The Troll that had run at me was a female, and had a large sword. The other two were male and female magic users, and they crouched further back, while black and green mist began to form around their hands. Jumping over to stand next to the boar, I also managed to slash one of the warrior Troll's ankles with my axe, causing her to limp as she continued to try and reach me. Narrowing my eyes in concentration for a few seconds, I then fired three arrows in rapid succession, directly into the female Troll's forehead. She slumped to the ground at my feet.

That just left the two spell casters. One of them had built up a bolt of shadow energy, which he threw at me, and I was able to dodge. To prevent him from casting again, I fired back with a green-tipped arrow that had a feather tied to it, and Nariyya noticed that, when it hit the Troll, he rapidly began to lean over towards the ground, and appeared to have difficulty breathing. Nocking up another two arrows at once, I fired again, catching both of the Trolls in the throat. They fell to the ground, gurgling.

Once that group was dead, I turned to the boar. Concentrating again, the aura around my hands began to glow green, and I placed them on the boar's back. Nariyya watched as the green energy washed over him, and the small cuts and wounds he had taken from the imps rapidly began to close. After I had stripped the imps' corpses, I pointed the boar to them, and Nariyya turned away as he began enthusiastically devouring them, first one and then the other.

"Sorry," I grinned at her. "He likes his meat fresh. I also probably shouldn't tell you this, but when you and I first met, I initially had to restrain him a little. I've known him to go into a frenzy when we go to Ashenvale. He really loves Night Elves, probably more than anything else. That's why I thought you were brave to come looking for me, because although I restrain it of course, truthfully I have something of a weakness for their blood, myself."

Nariyya's eyes widened, and she started backing away.

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "If I was going to, I already would have."

She stopped backing away, but I could tell that she was still nervous.

"Nariyya, I'm serious," I said to her. "Although it's true that a fight between me and another of the Kel'dorei probably isn't something you're going to want to watch, the ability to identify other members of your own pack is vital, and the boar and I both have that. Besides, you must have already known that relations between my people and the Night Elves aren't all that great in general, yes?"

She nodded, slowly. "Yes, I did know that. Truthfully, I also didn't spend a lot of time around the rest of them anyway; we didn't like each other very much."

I grinned again. "I could have guessed that. As I've said to you before, others never appreciate us. That is why, even more than those of other paths, when it comes to our own, Hunters look beyond race. We have had to draw together, because often, others of our own path are the only company we have."

Pulling out my main knife, I then gestured Nariyya over to help me, as I began stripping the Trolls's corpses of their robes, for the cloth, and checking them for coins and other items.

"Although there will be times where it happens unavoidably, ideally you never want your targets to get within melee range of you," I told her. "That is especially true in the case of Trolls, as they are larger and stronger than you, and the Dire Trolls we will face here later are even moreso. We use traps and our pet to keep the prey away from us, as you saw here, and our bow to deliver the kill."

"What was on that feathered arrow I saw you use?" She asked me.

"It's a poison that the Darkspears taught us how to make," I answered her. "They, in turn, were taught by their cousins in Stranglethorn Vale, long ago. In the Armani tongue, it is called Coorari. It incapacitates a target by causing chronic relaxation of the muscles, which initially causes paralysis, but eventually suffocation. The Troll I shot with it probably would have eventually suffocated anyway, but I wanted to be sure."

"That, however, actually leads to another critical lesson," I looked at her very earnestly now. "In a place like this at least, never, ever, leave anything living behind you. I made that mistake a couple of times early on. Never again. Whenever you have shot something, always check it afterwards, and do not move onto a new area until you are certain that everything in your current vicinity is dead. This is because sometimes, you will be overwhelmed and will need to fall back, and you will want a secure area when you do. It can sometimes help to pay attention to doors, stairways, or other narrow passages that you can use as chokepoints if you are being chased by a crowd. If you can force your attackers to come through it single, or double file at most, trap it, and use your pet as well, you will be surprised at the numbers you can cut through and still survive."

She nodded.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I sat at the fire at the end of another long day, and looked across at Nariyya. I was enjoying my usual Earl Grey at this point, which she also seemed to have taken to. Although I took it black, I realised that it was my own, single concession towards the sort of opulence which many of the others now customarily lived in.

She'd been with me for three days now, and so far we hadn't done anything hugely consequential. Hunted a few minor animals here and there, while I watched her, figured out how much she already knew, and took her measure, generally.

I had to admit; she had promise. She reminded me of myself when my own tusks weren't quite as long, alhough she was a bit more steady and less headstrong than I had been, and I didn't consider that a bad thing. I decided to mention that, for I felt that it was important.

"You move more cautiously than I did at your age, Nariyya," I began. "That is a good thing. Impatience has nearly got me killed more times than I can count. Lunge forward, make the kill, be quick, and do not worry so much about attention to form, or your own safety. That is the message of the others in Shattrath. That it is not my message, is one of the major differences between me and them."

I paused for a moment, listening to the slow crackling of the fire between us. We'd had a little rain recently, and I figured some of the wood was still damp. I closed my eyes, taking in the residual scent of the rain and the smoke from the fire, the sound of the boar snuffling contentedly at my side, and the intermittent feel of the rough grass beneath me. These were all things which, no matter how many times I experienced them, I never got too used to them, and never took them for granted. Despite the occasional pain, I still considered life itself to be the greatest gift that I had been given.

I continued speaking.

"There are many, from both of the two worlds, who do not know what it means to be a Hunter, and who hate us from the position of their ignorance. Our brothers and sisters in Shattrath are frustrated and caused great pain by this, and they have tried to compensate for it by acting recklessly at times, in order to try to gain credibility from those who will never give it to us.

If you also, truly choose to make the bow your own weapon, you will have to take that burden on your own shoulders as well. You will not find a more lonely path in either of the two worlds. You will be derided, mocked, and insulted at times wherever you go, and although in time, you will eventually come to realise our worth, and power, most of those you meet will never understand.

I do not tell you this to dissuade you, but so that you may make the choice with your eyes open, in full knowledge of the truth. Doing what we do, can only be motivated by love of it. That alone is what will sustain you in the face of the mockery and ostracision which you will receive. As you have seen, I myself am not only an outcast among those of other paths, but even among many within our own order."

Nariyya had turned somewhat pale as I finished speaking. Although she had travelled a bit, I got the feeling that she hadn't really lived in solitude for a long period of time before. I suspected that she was taking in the full gravity of what I was saying, and that was appropriate. I gave her a few moments, and then picked up the bow she had taken off before sitting down.

"Is this yours?"

I studied her for several seconds, wondering if she understood the real meaning of what I was asking her. Then her jaw set, she looked me squarely in the eye, and I realised that she did.

"It is."

"Then get some sleep." I grinned at her, much less serious now. "We'll be going somewhere more interesting in the morning."

Chapter 3

I woke suddenly, covered in sweat, my breath coming in great, shuddering gasps.

We were running forward, always onward, the sounds of Human screaming a constant echo in our ears, fires on both sides of us, and the ground reduced to featureless mud beneath our feet. Farmland, farmhouses, all the Human buildings; we smashed through them, burned them, always seeking the families within, to try and end our mad, desperate hunger. A hunger that could not be ended.

The hunger to kill.

Human men, often smaller than the smallest of us, tried frantically to defend their wives and children. Most barely lasted seconds before being overwhelmed by us, and they never died cleanly. They were always smashed, torn, burned to the point where nobody could have known afterwards that they had once been Humans.

Red blood, black blood, theirs, ours, covered us. We waded through it, it washed over us when we killed. We didn't know which, and we didn't care. We only sought one thing, and we found it. Again and again, times beyond number, we found it.

When I woke, when I remembered, in the few seconds when I could see both of my lives, contrasted, laid side by side, it was always the same. For a moment I would struggle to shut it out; I couldn't bear it, but something forced me to remember, to look.

"Spirits, help us...

What have we done?"

I struggled with my body, now semi-aware of where I was, telling myself to stop. "Must not...be heard...don't know who could come. It's only a dream. Only...a dream!"

"What is wrong?" Nariyya had heard me, and stood at the entrance of my tent. Her voice helped bring me out of it.

"You shouldn't...see me like this," I managed to growl out between convulsions. She didn't move, but her face registered concern.

I couldn't answer her for several more moments, as I was still fighting to bring my body back under control. The customary, agonising fire in my stomach was there, caused by the convulsions and the involuntary storm through my nerves.

I grit my teeth.

"It is...a dream...my memories..."

I answered her haltingly, still shaking.

"Memories of...the Blood."

Although Nariyya was young, she'd obviously read some history, because all of the colour drained from her face, and her eyes widened in barely comprehending horror as she realised what I meant. Her next words were a whisper, and she slowly began backing away.

"You can't mean..."

"Yes..."

I closed my eyes, trying to get the shaking to slow down more.

"They gave it...to my parents. They gave it...to all of us. I was...six years old."

My boar then pushed past Nariyya and came into the tent, putting his snout against my face. He had, of course, seen me in this state many times over the years, and he knew that simply his presence was the main thing I needed. As usual, with him there, I was gradually able to regain control, though I gripped his mane tightly for another several seconds.

"It sent us mad, Nariyya," I was speaking more evenly now. "The Humans and your people saw it, saw what we did to them because of it, but they didn't *know*. They weren't us, and they didn't feel it. It was something that the mortal races were never meant to be exposed to. It very nearly destroyed us."

The boar grunted, reminding me that he was there. I ran a hand through his fur, and continued.

"For me, the memories are largely unconscious, and only come when I am asleep. It is like that for most; our minds cannot tolerate consciously remembering. There was only one of us who could still control himself while under the influence of the Blood, although even as strong as he was, for him the control was only partial. He died in order to free the rest of us."

I could see that Nariyya knew who I was referring to. I spoke again, briefly.

"Although it is true that we naturally love to fight, and still have a bloodlust of our own, we can usually control that. The demons used...who we are...against us.

The Blood took our nature and distorted it; sent us berserk, and kept us in a stronger version of that state, constantly, for years. While it affected us, the only thing we wanted to do was kill."

"Will you...be all right now?" Nariyya asked me.

"Yes," I answered her. "Until tomorrow night, at least. There will never be absolution for me, Nariyya. Not for any of us. Grom was able to free us, but even he could not change the past. What is done, is done. Some of the Humans still consider us monsters, and have spat on me. Our Warchief told us that the only way any of us could cope with it was to realise that although we can't change the past, the one thing we can still change is the future. I hold to that, and more than anything else, it is the reason why now I never take life unless it is necessary."

She nodded, and went back to her own tent, as it was still the middle of the night. The boar moved closer to me, and I lay back down next to him, as I was gradually taken by a few hours of what was now, a mercifully dreamless sleep.

Some more fiction

I recently read Trackhoof's piece, written from his character's perspective, about why he was leaving the game. I also read some recent WoW fiction from Bandet, which I thought was good. So that actually inspired me to write something else of my own, loosely based around an email exchange I've had with Negara, and some forum adventures as well.

I was initially a little ambivalent about posting it here, since like a lot of what I write, it's probably controversial, and stands a fairly good chance of offending at least one person, and probably several. My rank on technorati has fallen by 70,000 odd in the last two days...but in the end, that's fine. One of the things what I'm posting is actually about, is that there's always been a difference between being me, and being popular.

---------------

The pig and I had just finished eating, not long before, when I heard her. I got up, and approached warily.

This was a surprise. Night Elf. I could tell from the features...and the scent. Her luminous eyes were almost a light source of their own, although the rest of her was partly hidden among a few thin trees.

I briefly wondered how long she'd actually been here. The Kel'dorei were very gifted at avoiding being seen, but this one appeared somewhat young.

"You're a fair way from home, little Elf," I told her. "What's your business out here?"

"Actually, I came looking for you," she answered me. She was a little startled to see the pig materialise next to me, as well. I guessed he could be intimidating. As well as the black colour, he was almost as long as she was tall, and about a quarter of her own height.

"Oh?" I kept my voice even, although I didn't usually get visitors.

"I've heard two different sets of rumours about you," she went on. "According to one, although you haven't accomplished anything which is usually renowned among our kind, it is possible that I could still learn something from you."

"And the other?" I asked. I felt I was being tested.

"There is one Orc in particular, a leader among the Rogues' guild, who tells everyone he meets that you are a fool, filled with false arrogance and delusion. That despite your claims to the contrary, you know nothing whatsoever of the Hunt, and that your words are as weak and empty as the wind against the grass."

My facial expression did not change. Evidently the Elf had expected me to be angry at this, for she then began to appear awkward. I said nothing, and went back to the fire. The Elf just stood there for a few minutes, uncertain of what to say or do next. She shifted her feet...and although my back was to her at the time, I felt her lower her eyes.

I sprang.

I'd learned how to fall so that most of my weight hit the ground, and I was over her at a 45 degree angle, as I knew I would have crushed her otherwise. Seeing fear and surprise in her eyes, my tusks went to her throat, drawing but a single drop of blood before I caught myself, moving back slowly and letting the bloodlust subside. I could have killed her for what she had said, but my parents, and my Warchief, had both taught me not to act blindly on those sorts of emotions. I also realised that it was not her, in truth, who had said it at all, but the Rogue she had mentioned.

After holding her there for a moment, I let her up, using my legs and one arm to get back up myself, while holding my eyes on her, and holding the other arm across my chest, in case she decided to try and use the knife I had seen materialise a few seconds earlier. She had debated, like me, and had apparently decided against it, but I wasn't taking any chances.

She surprised me again by then forcefully side kicking me in an ankle, causing me to fall. I rolled, dragging her down with me, and then lifting her head up and bringing the side of it down against the ground, hard.

I pinned her again, and when her eyes cleared, spoke in a furious whisper, my eyes level with hers. The basilisk I'd had earlier was not good eating, and I knew it would smell as foul on my breath as it had tasted. Sure enough, she flinched.

"This is what I can teach you. I know of the people you speak of. They at times go to dangerous places, yes; but with healers and mages beside them, warriors in thick plate in front of them, and enough others in general to hold their hand and make sure it's *safe*."

My lower lip curled.

"They also eat three square, even meals a day, with wine, cream, and gravy, and every night they sleep in the same soft, clean, perfumed beds that they will die in, behind thick stone walls, that yet more of those men in plate stand on top of."

My next words to her were a snarl.

"I live out here."

Her expression changed, and after studying her for another few moments, I felt that she understood. We again got up, and this time I knew that was over. She hadn't come out here to kill me; somehow I was aware of that. The pig knew it, too; he would have been on top of her otherwise. He actually loved fresh Elf meat, having developed a taste for it during our visits to Ashenvale, but he wouldn't attack her unless I asked.

I gestured towards the fire, and she sat down, pulling out some tea, as I did also.

"You can go and see the others," I continued. "They have sets of antlers on their walls. Their weapons are also bright, and shining, and often set on the wall as well, as are the various trophies, accolades, and awards they have received from all over both of the two worlds."

"Out here, however, there's only one kind of prize that matters."

I gestured to a large nightsaber that was asleep just outside the ring of the fire. "When you're on the ground, with the animal beside you your only ally for a hundred miles, one of those on top of you, and you can tell it hasn't eaten in close to a week...if you're still breathing two hours later, you've won it."

She looked shocked. "You let them sleep that close to you? Aren't you afraid they'll..." she trailed off.

I gave her an Orcish grin. "I hope they try. I can always use the practice. However..."

I trailed off and pointed to a cat carcass that was hanging from a nearby tree, that the Elf apparently hadn't previously noticed. There was a long cut almost down the length of it, and blood had been dripping from it to the ground. It was apparently also only then that the Elf noticed the smell. Flies had also already started to gather to it.

"That was the patriarch of the local pack. I made sure of that. The rest of them know what that means."

I went quiet after that for a bit, and we drank some more tea. After a few moments, I had a sudden flash of memory, and realised I'd seen this Elf before.

"I've actually seen you before, during my last resupply in Shattrath," I said to her. "You were talking to the leader of the Hunters' Guild there."

"Yes, that's right," she answered me. "I saw you there in passing as well. That was when I actually first heard of you. I noticed you didn't speak with the others, and asked them about you. To a man, they told me that you were insane, and to have nothing to do with you, but when you were mentioned, I noticed the expression on the face of the Elf I'd been speaking to. It was one of exasperation, and I could be wrong, but I think a very small amount of regret. I admit it made me even more curious."

I grinned at her. "They're probably right, you know. I'm a bad influence. You should probably go back to them. Being socially acceptable is easier, psychologically...or so I'm told."

She shrugged. "I still could go back. Possibly will, at some point, in fact. I wanted to see both sides."

I nodded.

"So you'll teach me?" She asked.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Teach you what? I don't know a damn thing, remember?"

She looked at the ground, embarassed. I silently cursed my own abrasiveness, and tried again.

"I'll tell you what. Stay with me for a couple of weeks. If you survive that, whether or not you've learned anything will be your own conclusion."

She smiled.

"So what's your name?" I asked her.

"Nariyya," she answered. "And yours?"

"I assumed you already knew," I answered her. "Mirshalak."