Post by warraven on Nov 4, 2007 2:36:58 GMT -5
Warraven ran as hard as she could, paws flying beneath her ghostly form, barely making a sound on the brittle leaves of the Felwood. She could hear the panting of her own breath, feel the fear that always accompanied a situation like this. They talked of heroism and bravery but she, she believed that the traditional concept of it was a lie.
There was always fear. Bravery came when one fought alongside it.
She ducked behind a tree, putting her belly low to the ground. She could have summoned her mount, but that would have taken precious time. She could easily be knocked from the ram’s back. No, this was the best form to take when fleeing. She wiggled her insubstantial body through the brush so that she could see the road, her wolf snout barely visible between the leaves. Everything appeared to be clear. Still… she couldn’t be sure.
There was a bracelet bound tightly around one wrist. Even in her ghost wolf form its power still worked. A band of silver with a circle imprinted with a rune – a very specific rune keyed to each other bracelet like it. Bracelets worn only by members of the Remnants of Honor. She gave her attention over to this, a motion she made as easily as speaking now, and mentally reached out to touch someone else wearing the bracelet.
‘Molinu,’ she said, the message feeling like normal speech to her but being relayed mentally, ‘Are you alive?’
She feared the response.
‘Barely. Firestripe is out and I’m pretending to be dead… stinking elf poked me a couple times and seems to be hunting about for you. Doesn’t seem too keen on it though… must be satisfied with orc blood.’
The voice was grim, a startling change from the usually absent-minded and boisterous hunter that Warraven knew. She bared her teeth in a snarl but made no noise. She didn’t want to be picked up by that night elf. It’d go poorly, as it already had.
They’d been hunting in the Felwood, stalking the bears and wolves that lived there so Warraven could take their hides and use them in her constant efforts to improve her skills as a leatherworker. It had been quiet work, the two an effortless team. Molinu, with his tiger Firestripe, taking lead and sending his pet in first to draw their target’s attention. Then she, carrying her staff, coming in behind and wielding it with a ferocity that seemed unlike the quiet nature of the tauren people. Things always went smoothly.
But there were others hunting in the Felwood this day and this particular one was far more skilled than the two combined. He’d appeared from behind, targeting Molinu, and Warraven’s first warning of an attack had been the orc’s cry of pain. She’d spun, forgetting about the hunt, and seen a glimpse of the tall form and strange purplish skin of a night elf before she moved to attack. But Molinu’s cry had stopped her.
Run. And he turned to do so, yelling for Firestripe to attack, to buy them time, and she’d seen where his armor had been torn away by the dagger the elf wielded and the blood staining his tabard. Then he’d dropped something onto the ground, an explosion of frost covered the scenery, and the two bolted in opposite directions. Force him to pick and choose who to chase. If he went after Warraven… well, he’d have to chase down a wolf, for she was already starting the spell that would summon the power of the Earthmother and give her speed she did not have in her normal tauren body. And if he went after Molinu than she would just wait and hide and come back and summon his spirit back to his body if need be.
That was what she was doing now. Waiting. Watching. Hoping Molinu was alright. Firestripe, their ever so loyal tiger, was not. That could be fixed. There was a bond between those two, strengthened by magic that only he knew and understood, that would not be broken unless he willed it. Firestirpe would be back. Unhappy, surely, but the tiger had never hesitated to buy the two time when they needed it. She silently pleaded to the Earthmother to protect them both and turn the very forces of nature against this elf that hunted them so casually, like it was a game to him.
It wasn’t a game to Molinu and Warraven.
‘I think we’re clear,’ Molinu finally said and Warraven crept from hiding, moving slow at first.
Her senses were as dull as always, the ghost form giving her the speed but not the smell or hearing of a wolf. She could only rely on Molinu’s word and she would, as the two had been together for a long time now.
They made a good team. They’d been across all portions of the world, it seemed, and would venture into far stranger places before their journey was done. Warraven was sure of this. When she left her small village on the outskirts of Mulgore she knew – by the Earmother’s guidance – that there were great things in front of her, a path she barely understood but would follow to whatever end. Molinu did not walk that path, but he was part of it. He too would be part of it to whatever end.
She broke into a ran, crossing the road and heading in the direction Molinu had last gone. There was a tug in her mind, the two bracelets resonating as they were designed to, so that the Remnants of Honor could keep each other safe. They would find one another when it was needed.
Molinu had his back against a tree and was tearing into what appeared to be a bird roasted whole. He glanced up as she approached, a strip of meat hanging out of his fangs. Then he slurped it down and tore off another hunk. His polearm sat propped against a tree next to him. Not too far away lay Firestripe, still and unmoving on his side, the great beast laid out by their attacker. She felt a surge of pity for the beast. The creatures of the Earthmother should not be tossed aside so lightly. But it was not Molinu who made the tiger’s sacrifice needlessly – they had to live as well. It was that night elf… was this their respect for the earth around them?
A slain tiger who had only tried to protect his master in a hopeless battle?
“Give me a few minutes and we’ll get Firestripe back up,” Molinu said, a cheerful tone back in his voice.
Warraven dismissed the spell and took a moment to orient herself back to her tauren body. She stabbed the butt of her staff into the ground, the feathers that adorned the top shivering at the gesture. Why was he so cheerful? She was terrified. She felt exposed, vulnerable.
“We won’t see him coming if he decides to try again,” Molinu said, “so I think our best bet would be to call this hunting trip over and head for Bloodvenom Post.”
“But why did he attack us?” she asked. She was always hunting for answers. Yes, there was war between their people. But in a place like this… where corruption ran through the roots of the trees and infected all creatures around it… wouldn’t that be more important than some callous desire to kill?
Perhaps her priorities were different. Perhaps he did not hear the Earthmother’s pain in such a place.
“Feh, who cares,” Molinu said, finishing off the bird and tossing the bones aside, “Let’s just not give him the opportunity to do it again. C’mon.”
He stood and picked up his spear, walking over to where Firestripe lay. Power swelled around him, channeling through his form and Warraven watched, not comprehending that bond between orc and animal that allowed him to do such things. Then the power infused itself to Firestripe’s battered frame and the tiger shuddered and rose to his four paws, shaking his head and uttering a low growl. Molinu fed him a fish and scratched behind his ears.
“Good kitty,” he said, “I feed you a gnome next time, okay?”
“We ready to go?” Warraven asked. She was uncomfortable just standing here.
“Right. Let’s go.”
And so she pulled from her pouch a token, a focus that pulled one object from one place to another. In this case, it pulled from one of the stables a ram that had been ‘legally obtained’ by those goblins during Brewfest. She patted its nose and pulled herself up into the saddle, taking hold of the reins. Behind her, Molinu came up alongside her, mounted on the back of a tawny wolf. She noted that his armor was still torn in the back from where the elf’s dagger had landed. That would take some work to repair.
“Let’s ride,” Molinu said, “Stick to the road as it’ll be faster and we’ll need speed over stealth.”
She nodded and gently kicked the ram with her hooves. The creature broke into a run and Molinu’s wolf pulled ahead, urged on by the mithrel spurs on Molinu’s boots. She had always thought him a little mad for daring put such a thing to the side of a riding wolf but then again, Molinu –was- an orc. They were a daring breed.
They made it halfway to Bloodvenom Post before Molinu called a halt. He pulled his wofl around and it spun, snarling, and he rose up in the saddle to look out across the terrain.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “What’dya know? Feel like some payback?”
“Molinu,” Warraven replied, “We don’t stand a chance against that elf. You saw how fast he tore up Firestripe.”
“This isn’t an elf. Human. Either way, still Alliance scum. And he doesn’t see us.”
Warraven hesitated. She always did. Was it right? Did war justify killing anyone that crossed their path and wasn’t one of the Horde? Molinu, however, never had these thoughts. To him, things were black and white. Horde good. Alliance bad. Time to get killing things. So Warraven didn’t even have time to mentally make an argument before he was off, leaping off the back of his wolf and sending Firestripe up ahead to charge the poor man. Warraven was off the back of her ram and following within seconds. She would back him up, no matter what the choice was.
And by the Earthmother… he’d made some bad choices in the past.
The cat struck the human hard, latching his fangs into the man’s leg and easily passing through the cloth robe the man wore. Warraven followed a second behind, swinging her staff in a full circle just as he turned and realized what was happening. She saw the panic in his eyes and then the fire that he conjured to his hands. A magic user. Well, so was she. And so, as her strike landed across his shoulders, shattering bone, she implored the Earthmother to rise up on her behalf and a shockwave of nature energy burst into the mage’s body, tearing it apart on the inside.
Fire rushed by her head, a bolt of flame aimed at Molinu, who didn’t make a sound when it hit. He was an engineer. He’d set himself on fire plenty of times before.
But why were they all picking on him today?
She roared, a battle-cry, as the bloodlust took her. It was her protective nature that brought it, a desire to preserve and nurture. And when something threatened that desire… then fury took over and she felt the Earthmother singing in her veins. Nature was life and death. The two existed side by side and as a shaman, Warraven knew both aspects. She jabbed her staff in low, aiming for the ribs, and as the man doubled over and fire exploded in a ring around them, Firestripe went for the throat.
A few moments of standing there, panting. The fire blast that had been localized on her and the tiger died away and Warraven started to feel the burns announce themselves, the spots where her armor did not stop it and the fur was singed away and the skin raw and blistered. Firestripe merely growled low in his throat, licking the blood away from his muzzle. She spared a glance for the human, the collar of his robe crimson.
“That won’t go unnoticed,” she said as Molinu walked over and patted Firestripe on the head.
“Nope!” Molinu agreed, his mood improving by the second.
“That elf is still out there.”
“Yep!”
He was already walking back to where his wolf waited him. She turned and followed.
“So what do we do about the elf now?” she asked. He usually had a plan.
“The elf… well, since we can’t take him in combat….” He mounted and settled himself into the saddle. “We run like the entirety of the Burning Legion is behind us and don’t stop until we’re at Bloodvenom Post.”
Not a very heroic plan, but considering the circumstances, she was happy with it.
