A Great Bear in the Deep Forest
By the third time Mograg passed the mailbox, it occurred to him he had not checked for anything new in almost a week. His chance encounter with Kormok on the Bluff was the last he had spent real time in any city in days. He had made two stops in Orgrimmar since, but they were brief, mostly for repairs and provisions. He had not made the decision to go into the wild, really, but it is to where he was guided by the wind. What few supplies he wanted for were soon stocked in abundance in his pack. He knew he did not need them. He had given proof to both himself and his tribe that he could survive on his own starting out with no more than a loincloth. In those days he was still known by the name Takoda.
He had grown soft, though, away from the tribe. He now reached habitually for creature comforts. Easily and cheaply obtained food meant he need not hunt as often to feed himself or Gunnar. The well-crafted weaponry he possessed now made those of his youth seem far too crude to even consider using. Bundles of pre-cut wood took the effort out of making fire. Fire itself was all too available already in the cities. Orgrimmar had so many bonfires lit that it took nearly a whole day of washing just to get the stink of the burning wood off he and Gunnar. It had become an offensive odor to Mograg. He had quite liked the smell in his youth.
Mograg eyed the mailbox warily. In that moment it became to him a symbol of his softness. These were new, not a thing found among the Shu'halo before they had encountered the Orcs. The mailboxes, like the auction house, were not of the tribes. No one had seen the need for them before they had been united and started to settle. He still had not quite figured out their operation. Some combination of mechanics and magic, undoubtedly, but precisely how they worked was still a mystery to him.
Most of what he found waiting for him was from the auction house. He also found a request to build a part for someone. What anyone would want with such a thing was beyond him. Anyone who would need a thorium widget should be able to build it. That so many people had come to him for delicate arcanite converters made him quit questioning the reasons in favor of just fulfilling the requests. He had a few widgets on hand anyway, so off into the mail it went with a request for payment upon receipt. It was a fair price for which he asked. He asked less than he might get for it at auction, but a small amount more than it would cost him to make new.
The last thing in the mailbox for him was the most curious. A piece of parchment, stained by blood. Mograg frowned as he looked at the lettering. The handwriting was small, too much so to be by Shu'halo hand. Water had caused the ink to run. The drops had not been large. Rain, or tears, he thought. To say the lines forming the characters were imprecise was an understatement. He would not likely be able to read it if they had been, but he thought the shakily crafted letters would be barely legible to those who understood them. He stared at the parchment a long moment, then rolled and tucked it away.
Mograg stalked off toward the Hunter's Rise. He caught the lingering scent of several Tears as he passed through the inn, heading toward the bridge that spanned the chasm from the Low Rise to his destination. Two were still strong, Twie and Juadi. He knew they must still be near but did not stop to speak. Mograg was intent on finding the meaning of the letter, and his mind puzzled over it. He knew it did not come from Milanna nor Eihran. Neither would write so small, nor in Orcish. Nuka, Weg, or Shaw, maybe, he thought to himself as he crossed the bridge. They would seek him out, though, unless they could not for some reason. They knew how to find him, and how to make themselves heard by him on his stone.
The hour was already late. Mograg was not surprised to find that Melor was gone, undoubtedly fast asleep. It had been worth the walk over, on the off chance that this was an evening where slumber eluded him. He trusted Melor to translate the words for him, if it could be read. In his absence, Mograg set out to Orgrimmar. He crossed back over the bridge to the Low Rise. As he passed through the inn he saw Twie and Juadi. He nodded briefly, not wanting to interrupt or to be interrupted.
A short flight later and he found himself sniffing at the air of Orgrimmar. He called out for his new companion after letting the black dragonling Quidel loose. The cat spirit remained hidden, but made herself known to Mograg. The trio made their way from the flight tower to Nogg's Machine Shop. Mograg knew Nogg would still be awake, tinkering with something. His skill had long since surpassed Nogg's in most respects, but he was confident that the goblin would decipher the message faithfully for him.
The bull knew better than to interrupt him while the goblin made precise adjustments on the device in front of him. He doubted seriously that Nogg had any real idea of why he was making the adjustment, but did not wish to provoke his ire when coming to seek a favor. In his own time, Nogg turned around and addressed him, "Mograg! It's been a long time!" The goblin looked around, "Where's the slobber machine?"
Mograg smiled slightly, "He go to hunt. Nogg, need to ask a thing from you." Mograg reached for the parchment tucked away on his person. He could sense the cat spirit lurking about in the shadows of the shop, but the goblins had no knowledge of her presence. He had taken to calling the cat spirit Nahima. In the Orc tongue, the name would mean "Mystic." She had been following Mograg for some time now, since Shaw had taken him to elven ruins far in the north of Darkshore. "What it is, this?" He handed the parchment, now unrolled, to Nogg.
Without another word, Nogg put it into a machine and slammed a cover shut. There was a loud click. The device hummed to life. In a strange choreography, several quills were raised in unison by the apparatus and dipped into inkwells. They were then set down onto long, narrow strips of parchment which streamed out of the machine. Each moved back in forth, no longer in unison. Nogg stood near the scrolling parchment, examining them. "Well, it's a parchment, Mograg. Looks like, ah! Ink. And blood. And water, maybe rain." Nogg looked up at Mograg, errantly smug in the satisfaction of discovering through engineering what was evident to the casual observer.
Mograg let out a heavy sigh as he brought his trigger finger and thumb up to his eyes, clearing them. "Nogg, you read it to me, mmm?" The bull had known better than to give Nogg such an open-ended request. He would not do so a second time. He watched as Nogg waited for the machine to stop humming. The goblin slid the cover open and removed the parchment, tamping out the flames that had started to singe its edges.
"Oh! Sure, Mograg. Why didn't you just ask? Let's see here." The goblin scrutinized the parchment. "Golrath is dead." Mograg nodded, frowning gravely. Nogg studied it a bit further. "You can come back to the, hmm. Oh! Clan. You can come back to the clan now. And it's signed Tw-".
"Twie," Mograg interrupted harshly. "Thank you, Nogg, to do this." He put out his hand to the goblin who promptly placed the note within. Mograg rolled the parchment up again and tucked it away.
"Heh! Glad I could help," Nogg chimed, oblivious to the frustration in Mograg's demeanor. "Hey, rumor has it you had a little transporter accident not too long ago. You oughta be more careful, big guy. You should've stuck with goblin engineering. At least our stuff explodes on purpose." Nogg peered curiously at Mograg. "But I heard you came back as your evil twin. Is that true?" Mograg nodded sharply. "Well, glad you're back to your old self again! Er, right?"
Still frowning, Mograg let out a non-committal grunt. "See you some time, Nogg. Thank you again to do this." The goblin watched Mograg even more curiously, taking a few steps back as he did. Mograg turned to the door and headed back out into the Valley of Heroes. Quidel flapped along beside him while Nahima stalked behind. From the road, Mograg stopped to watch the waterfall a few moments. The smell of the nearby bonfires filled his nostrils.
Mograg shook his head and muttered under his breath in Taurahe, "If you find intelligent companions, wise and well-behaved people going the same way as yourself, then go along with them, overcoming all dangers, pleased at heart and mindful. But if you do not find intelligent companions, wise and well-behaved people going the same way as yourself, then go your way alone. It is better to walk alone for there is no companionship with fools. Go your way alone and commit no evil, without cares, like a great bear in the deep forest." He had not thought about those words since he heard them spoken last. In those days he was still known by the name Takoda.
He made his way out of Orgrimmar, back into the wilds.
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