An Unlikely Meeting

The breeze came down the shore of Lake Elune'ara. Mograg caught the scent of the dark elf before he saw his approach. The green-haired elf was dour. His expression conveyed grief, his posture was of one broken. His appearance was well kept, but decidedly of earthen tones. If it were not for the dim glow of yellow eyes or the long ears, he might be mistaken for a short tree. The elf barely gave the bull a glance as he slowly shuffled toward him.

Mograg, big bull that he was, was hardly a threatening sight to behold. He'd gotten up early and dressed for the occasion. Loosely threaded clothing, the sturdiest rod he owned in hand, and his lucky fishing hat completed the look and gave warning to the world that the bull was here to relax and he intended to see it through. His ever-docile wolf companion sunning himself on the shoreline only reiterated this notion.

Only when they were well within striking distance did they give acknowledgment of the other's presence. The elf, Velton, raised his hand, hailing the bull. Keeping an eye on his already cast line, the bull nodded to the elf. Mograg started to smile, stopping short when he saw the expression on Velton's face. He gave a small bow, then squared his shoulders up again to watch his line. "Ishnu'alah," said the elf, breaking the silence.

"Hello, elf," returned the bull in his native Taurahe. The bull didn't expect the dark elf to understand, of course, but it seemed polite to him to speak a greeting. He had met enough of the dark elves to know that he was being greeted, and kindly at that.

Deep below the surface of the water, the salmon had been tending to its own business, unaware of the encounter happening on the shore. Its mind was preoccupied with eating and the urge to spawn. One desire, it seemed, would be soon satisfied as the morsel danced tantalizingly in the water before its large eyes. He circled around twice before sucking in the meal.

The strike of the line snapped Mograg's attention back to the task at hand. He jerked the pole upwards, setting the cold, barbed steel of the hook through the lip of the salmon. He began to reel the fish in, cranking slowly as it fought against him. He could tell by the struggle that this one would be sizable. The salmon did not stop resisting the tug at its mouth until the very end.

As the bull hefted it out of the water and onto the shore, the elf's eyes grew a bit brighter and a slight smile crossed his lips. He watched as the bull removed the hook, holding the fish by its lower jaw. As Mograg ran the stringer through the salmon, Velton dug his rod and reel from his pack. By the time the salmon, now tethered and anchored to the shore, was back in the water the elf had his line cast. Grinning, Mograg followed suit.

The pair fished for hours in near silence, keeping only the most suitable of their catches, releasing the others to the water. When the bull had accidentally injured one beyond what would heal readily, the elf waved his hand over it. Green energy seemed to concentrate around first the elven hand, and then the body of the fish. The wound was repaired. "Handy. A druid, mmm?" asked the bull.

Velton had understood the word for druid in Taurahe and responded affirmatively, "Anu'dora." He watched as the bull released the catch and it swam off into the depths of the lake.

Their fills caught, Mograg took out his flint and steel and placed it on the ground. The druid nodded to him. Smiling, the bull stalked off into the surrounding woodland to gather fallen limbs. While he was gone, Velton began cleaning the fish. By the time the fire was built and ready for cooking, their catch was prepared.

After the meal was eaten, the druid took out a flask from an inner pocket. He took a swig from it and handed it to Mograg. "You have no idea, hunter, what I say to you. I know this, and still I speak," the Kaldorei said in the Darnassian dialect. The bull accepted the offered flask and drank from it, his face twisting a bit in distaste. "I have not left the Moonglade since I found out she was dead, bull. I cannot bring myself to do so. It was hard enough when our children were killed, and then she..." he trailed off. "If only I had been there for her." The druid sighed heavily.

Mograg watched after the druid with a head slightly tilted. He offered the flask back to him, and found it accepted quickly. "A ovak kee," the bull's voice rumbled. He rested a hand on the druid's shoulder after patting it twice. "A mani a eche ni hale awa." The message did not get through to the elf, but the tone of sympathy in the bull's voice brought him comfort.

Velton produced a small book and opened it. He took little time in finding the right page and holding it to the bull for his inspection. Upon it was a sketch in charcoal of a young human girl. Pretty, Mograg supposed, by human standards. The druid pointed to the picture of the girl, then toward the barrow den in the distance. Mograg nodded his understanding and again clasped the dark elf's shoulder.

Velton smiled weakly and closed the book. He stowed it away. "I hope for your sake, bull, that your life is happier than mine." The hunter regarded him with a brief, puzzled shrug. "Either way, I shall let you return to it." He took another swig from the flask before offering it one last time to Mograg.

The dark elf stood before the bull, having been returned the flask. He bowed to Mograg, deeply and graciously. "Elune'adore," he said. The bull knew enough to understand this as words of departure.

"Zhi anohe nechi awa," Mograg said as he bowed in return. Velton turned and walked up the shore from whence he came. The bull lingered a little longer, ensuring that no trace of their presence marred the shore. He activated his hearthstone and he and his wolf companion were carried away by its magic to the other world.

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Vigil, Part V

Before midday Mograg convinced himself that continuing to search the island of tallstriders would yield no better result. With a heavy heart he took wing once more, leaving behind him the last hope he held for finding Slyvos.

He passed over the wastelands and ruins. He passed through Terokkar Forest. He flew into Shattrath City. He tarried there long enough to make two purchases, one from the tavern and one from a baker. He stepped through the portal and was carried back to his home world in a single beat of his heart. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the cavern. He walked out, crossed the bridge to the main rise of Thunder Bluff, and made his way toward the teepee in which the bankers were entrusted with valuables. Chesmu, with a pretty smile and no question, retrieved for him his ceremonial clothing as he requested of her.

Mograg and his wolf companion Gunnar walked out from the bankers' teepee and across the Low Rise to the lifts. They rode down to the plains of Mulgore. There Mograg continued the preparations.

He had first seen the ritual as a very young calf and had practiced it more times than he cared to think. He gathered from the earth the plants, their berries, and the clay. He gathered the modest amount of fallen wood he would need. He gathered the dried moss. He found the bark. He gathered the water. He gathered the brush.

When all was gathered Mograg and Gunnar walked together across the plains to Red Rocks. The quillboar were nearby again. The bull was still in his full battle gear. They saw him, dressed in bright red, from a good distance. His Surestrike Goggles let him see them from even further. By the time he and Gunnar were in plain view the quillboar had scattered. He knew he would not need fear their interruption.

Gunnar found a spot for himself nearby in the grass. The bull stripped down from his battle gear and carefully placed it just far enough away so he might continue unhindered. He began the chanting of a mourning song. First, he would light the fire in the old way. He shunned the bundled wood in his pack, as well as the steel and striking-stone. He constructed his fire instead from the small twigs and fallen branches he found on the plains, though few and far between they had been that day. He gathered the wood together, forming the teepee shape. Most of the moss went in as the floor to this teepee of firewood.

His hands were out of practice in lighting the fire in the old way. They moved quickly back and forth as they traveled down the stick between them. The stick drilled through the remaining moss and into the wood below. In a moment of frustration, he recalled with slight bitterness how he had just told the story of how Shu'halo were taught by Wolf to get fire from Wood. He considered briefly asking Gunnar to do this work in his stead. He persevered and eventually coaxed Wood to give to him the spark of fire. The smoke of the moss grew to flame as he pursed his lips and blew his wind onto it. He added the now lit moss to the moss at the bottom of his stacked wood. Soon, the fire was burning under An'she's watch.

He began to chant a prayer-song of purification. He gathered together in a bundle the brush he had collected. One end he lit in the fire. The smell of the burning brush was a bittersweet comfort to him. Still chanting, he performed the purification dance. As he danced, he waved the brush through the air to drive away the evil spirits. They, like the quillboar, would now let him complete the ritual unfettered. When the dance was complete, what remained of the brush was tossed into the fire to purify the path to the ancestors.

Mograg then took up a small motar made of kodo bone. Still chanting, he purified it with some small amount of the water he carried up from Stonebull Lake. With a pestle of the same bone, he began to grind together some of the plants, their berries, and the clay into a bright red paint. He emptied the motar onto the dried bark and began to mix a dark blue paint. When enough of it was made, he put motar and pestle aside. Using the bark as an artist would a palette and his fingers as brushes, he began to paint his body as the spirits moved his hand. An'she dried it quickly to his fur.

A prayer-song for ancestral guidance came next from his lips. He donned his ceremonial loincloth. He fastened the leather belt that held to him his ceremonial axe of kodo bone, sinew, and wood. He pulled on his ankle wraps, his harness, cloak, bracers, and leather gloves. Each piece reminded him of the gravity of the ritual, and why he must perform it to the best of his ability.

He took from his pack the bagels and bourbon he had purchased in Shattrath. He placed them near the burning fire, but not so close the flames would come to harm them. He placed in front of them the purple hat that he recovered at the end of Slyvos' trail. These things he would send to Slyvos, in the land of their ancestors.

Mograg chanted a new prayer-song. This was not to the ancestors, nor a song of mourning, nor for purification or even to the Earthmother. This prayer-song was the song in his spirit, a song he made now for Slyvos. He danced around the fire as he sang. His song was joyous at times, recounting when they walked together. His song was sorrowful at times, lamenting when they did not walk together. His song was both at times, speaking of his friend walking among the spirits of the ancestors and not knowing either the pains or pleasures of mortal life. His song at other times was not of words at all, but of the sounds and uluations that the spirits of the ancestors called forth from him.

As this prayer-song ended, his dance brought him to the fire where what he would send to Slyvos waited for him. The bagels and bourbon that his friend had loved in life were added to the fire. Slyvos' hat was the last to be added. In a moment of morbid humor, Mograg thought to himself as he watched the hat burn how mortified Slyvos would be should he have walked up just as Mograg tossed the hat onto the flame.

Mograg watched by the fire, chanting now more softly. He spoke a prayer-song to the Earthmother, asking she bring peace to all spirits. Mograg watched until the very last ember turned to cold ash. He gathered up that which he had brought with him. An'she would leave the sky soon. It was time he returned to Thunder Bluff.

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Vigil, Part IV

The first search, made while still heavily influenced by drink, yielded nothing. The largest of plainstriders, the tallstriders, were apparent to him even through his blurred vision. His windrider had set down among them, a fair enough distance that he only aroused their suspicion without tempting their attack. It was the sense of self-preservation of the windrider that brought him to such a place.

The bull looked around, his legs wobbling after dismounting the windrider. The subtle changes in the pitch and yaw of the island, disconnected from the rest of Outland and floating in the void, coupled with the strong drink kept Mograg off balance. The ground seemed to fall away from him and rise up to meet him at different times. He grasped his polearm in both hands as if to wield it, but found more often he used it to prop himself up.

In this manner, Mograg stumbled about the island, searching through the fog of drink for any sign of Slyvos. Twice a tallstrider took offense at his presence. The first of these attacks he managed to deal with, though not without difficulty. He was very fortunate not to draw attention of other tallstriders as he hurled curses at it, yelling his hatred and demanding to be brought to his druid friend immediately.

On the occasion of the second attack, he faired quite a bit more poorly. He was taken by surprise. A tallstrider charged out at him from behind a tree. The beast had little trouble getting past the polearm, used less by Mograg for offense or defense and more for support. The strong drink in his body finally overcame him and in the middle of battle caused him to collapse. Though his judgment and faculties were severely impaired, the second nature of his long years of training took over. To all outward observation, he had fallen over dead. The tallstrider, unwilling to eat meat and lacking proper utensils even if it had such a desire, quickly became bored with the alleged corpse and returned to its previous occupation.

He was told later that when he appeared in Garadar he was fast asleep. According to the note they had found on his person, a hunting party had found him and activated his hearthstone. He had slept in the inn well into the late morning.

He had always enjoyed watching the orcish children play their chasing games, their shouts of "No, you're the ogre!" heard easily throughout the village. He had never previously felt his head throb as it did.

Most of his day was spent in quiet, very quiet, contemplation. He kept to himself when he could. When others threatened to find him, he took the form of a fish and found a still, quiet place in one of the many streams. The water soothed his head.

By the time An'she's last light was leaving the sky and Mu'sha would soon appear, he was more himself. His head did not throb, and his mind had calmed. He sought out the clan, who would gather that night for songs and tales. Where he had been this past day was not a tale he would share.

Tomorrow. He would search the island again tomorrow. This time would be without the counsel of the pink elekks.

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Vigil, Part III

Bourbon. Dakormaar had offered Mograg some earlier that evening. He had accepted it, and the taste had not left his mouth since. When the last of the gathering finally parted and Mograg was left on his own, the taste still tugged at his mind. Resolutely, he made his way to Stonebreaker after procuring all the alcohol he would need.

He emptied the small keg. The pink elekk seemed to smile to Mograg as the bull tried to pat its head, his hand passing through it. One of the orcs nearby shook his head sadly at the drunken bull. To the orc, Mograg was talking to and patting affectionately nothing more than the empty air.

Mograg had not come to this place since he had brought Thalleia here. They, among others, had been drinking in Booty Bay that evening in celebration of the wedding ceremony of Issaela and Eisali. He wished to know if the orc huntress would see the pink elekks as he had. He returned this time alone, seeking out the pink elekks one more time.

When Slyvos had first told Mograg of the pink elekks Mograg had assumed it was Slyvos' failing sanity speaking. He had long known that the mind of the older bull was not well. It had been apparent upon their first meeting, long ago.

Seeing the pink elekks for himself and now knowing that Thalleia saw them as well made Mograg reconsider everything Slyvos had said to him. Perhaps his sanity had not been failing after all. It explained some things, and those explanations made Mograg more uncomfortable than before.

He had found Slyvos' purple hat, one of the many hats Slyvos sought to protect from the plainstriders. He had found the hat and plainstrider feathers at the end of the trail, where Slyvos had disappeared. He saw with his own eyes the signs of the struggle that had ensued. He knew the plainstriders had left of their own volition, in apparent victory.

Mograg found all of this many weeks ago. Too many. Mograg had watched the places where he expected to see Slyvos. He had hunted for any sign of him. He had hired people to keep watch for him. At the close of the festival of the undead, Mograg knew that the time was upon him where he would need to consider that he would not see his friend again.

In recent times, Slyvos had been unable to recall the story that he had told Mograg when first they met. Mograg recounted it faithfully to Thalleia when they had come here. This time, Mograg spoke it only to the pink elekk.

"The plainshtridersh, you shee, wanted hish hat because it ish magic. It revealed to Shlyvos the path to the cave in Thunder Bluff filled with gold! Now, that shounds crazy to you, sure, but I can shee you," he said to the pink elekk with a grin. "Sheeing you shounded crazy to me when he told me about you. And I have a helmet which letsh me see ghoshtsh!" Mograg hiccupped. "Sho, why not a hat that letsh you shee a path to a cave filled with gold in Thunder Bluff?" He wobbled where he stood. "And what would the plainshtridersh want with gold, you ashk? Well, I've sheen more than one raptor hoarding coin for itshelf. They like shiny objectsh. And they're shmart! They have a whole shociety and everything! Why not plainshtridersh, too?" The pink elekk swatted through Mograg with its trunk. "Why not, I ashk you..."

Taking a swig from a large jug of bourbon, Mograg considered that his own sanity was failing.

The burn of the bourbon in his throat was all too well known to him. Slyvos had seen to it some time ago that Mograg became familiar with the more potent spirits. The alcohol emboldened Mograg. After another swig, he called for his windrider. Taking wing, Mograg nearly lying forward on the beast, they headed southwest. He would fly across to the floating islands where the largest of plainstriders could be found. He had not searched for him at this place yet, knowing that to do so would be to believe all that Slyvos had told him. Now, it was the only hope he had left for finding his friend.

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Vigil, Part II

From his perch in the ruins of Lordaeron, Mograg watched. A footbridge crossed the river of green. It was this place he hoped to find the one he sought. Many would come here, during the celebration of the undead. He had a good view of the ruins. Should his quarry pass through, he would see it.

This place made him uneasy. It was a dead place, and haunted. He had never seen it previous to its ruination. Stories were told to him of it. From the other human cities he had seen, he thought he had a decent idea of how it must have appeared.

Spirits lingered here. Few of them if any were happy about it. When he had passed through this place with shamans, he could see the toll they took on them. Though his eyes could not, at least without the aid of magic, see into the spirit realm, the fur on his forearms stood up. They were there and he knew it.

Steeling his resolve, the bull waited.

More than a day had passed. Though people of interest crossed the footbridge several times the one he sought did not. The bull was tired. The spirits of the ruins continued to keep him uneasy. It was time to clear his head and abandon his hunt, if for just a few minutes.

Crossing the ruins and ascending staircase opposite the one he had just come down, he strode toward the orb that by touching it would carry him to Silvermoon City. As he walked, two began to speak over the stones. Vandrian sought to speak with Issaela. She informed him she was in the city. When he inquired as to which city that was, she replied that she was in "-The- City."

Mograg stopped mid-stride. The assumption was easy enough to make that, as a pale elf speaking to another pale elf, she meant Silvermoon. Mograg hesitated as more plans were made. He was tired and had little use for being social. Issalea suggested they meet by the fountain.

In his weariness, the beast was given voice. "-The- fountain?" asked Mograg across the stones, eliciting a round of chuckles from others listening.

He thought perhaps he would get past the fountain before they would meet there.

Mograg placed his hand on the red orb. No more than a heartbeat later his eyes took in his new surroundings. He had been carried far to the north, to Silvermoon City. The pale elf home was one of luxury and fineries. They were wealthy and they spared no expense showing it.

He walked out of one building, between the columns of guards along the walkway, and down toward the aforementioned fountain. Issaela was already present. She smiled as he passed and he waved to her without breaking stride.

He took a tour of the city and the grounds immediately nearby. Outside, he refilled water skins in a stream and hunted small game for a meal. He would not eat or drink anything from the area near the ruined city of Lordaeron. The parts of the city the pale elves kept, for all that was wrong with it, was at the very least healthy.

Inside, distrusting and judgmental eyes followed him wherever he walked. When he took occasion to speak to some of the pale elves he was rarely greeted kindly. Most times he was told, "Your gold is welcome here." The implication was obvious to the bull. He would not tarry long.

He sat on a bench and watched a broom. It swept up and down the cobblestones autonomously. He drank of the fresh water. Heavy eyelids closed of their own volition.

He woke with a start. In a dream, he had found the one he sought. It was neither here in the pale elf city, nor in the ruined city of the undead. In fact, he seemed to have been nowhere in particular. Whether it was a vision granted him or nothing more than an ordinary dream, the bull decided to change his tactics. He would remain watchful, but let the wind carry him where it would.

He went past the fountain once more, nodding to Issaela and Vandrian as he passed. Through the columns of guards, transported by the orbs, and down the steps into the ruins once more. He checked the ground one last time for the tracks of his quarry. Finding none, he let his hearthstone carry him home.

Mograg slept.

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Vigil

The great, armored raptor beneath him sounded his complaint. The bull had been still too long, and the raptor was understandably tired of holding him aloft. "Easy, Tohopka," he spoked to it in hushed Taurahe, "You go hunt pigs, but don't stray too far from my sight, mmm?"

He patted the raptor on its side before hopping down to the ground. It strode off into the distance as the bull took one knee. He had been here for hours today, and countless hours since it had begun. From a rocky outcropping that sprung up through the red dust of Durotar, he watched the goblins, the brewers, and their hired crew dismantle the festival.

Gunnar settled in beside him, panting in the heat. The bull watched the proceedings. Drunkards and revelers protested the end of the festival, asking the goblins to stay for just one more day. Many already had their fill and had stopped attending the event several days ago. Others only protested the noise, undoubtedly nursing hangovers.

All of this, the bull saw as he watched.

Others had disappeared on him before, and even now there were those who he had not seen in too many days. He had always found them, though, whether they knew it or not. One who tracks well can find the ones they seek from several days behind. The tracked will only know they are being stalked should the hunter wish it so.

The circumstances of this disappearance were different. He had found the trail and followed it to the end in hopes of catching up to the one who made it. When he found the end of the trail, he saw the signs of the struggle that had ensued. He knew that his quarry was taken by surprise, and he knew the identities, as difficult as it was to believe, of the attackers. A group of them. Their trails diverged almost immediately, as soon as they had left Thunder Bluff.

All that had been left behind was a purple hat and a few feathers. The trail was dead.

Mograg opened a well-lined pouch marked [Surestrike Goggles v2.0] that he wore on his hip. He placed the goggles over his eyes. Pressing a button at the side, he zoomed in as he scanned the horizon. All that seemed out of place was a black raptor with orange stripes and faded red armor greedily devouring a boar. He replaced the goggles and continued to watch.

None of those whom he questioned, and none who had accepted coin to watch for his quarry while Mograg could not, had produced results. This had certainly been the type of event that he would attend, at least once, but no evidence of his presence could be found.

The afternoon wore on. The last of the festival was packed away. He was approached about being hired as an escort to see the caravan safely back to Steemwheedle Port. Mograg declined each offer before mention of the coin was made, citing in broken Orcish that he had "other thing to do."

He gave a sharp whistle. Moments later, the raptor Tohopka was at his side once more. He walked Tohopka and the wolf Gunnar to the zeppelin tower and strode up the ramp. The female goblin, Snurk, was the first to take notice of him. "Hey there, cutie! When are we going to take that vacation in the jungle you promised me?"

"No jungle. Not this day. I need to go to city under city," he replied evenly.

"You never go there! What's the occasion? Got a hot date with a cold body?"

"Hunting."

"The strong silent type. My favorite!" she swooned. "The hunting is better in the jungle, you know. And after we get all hot and steamy, we can take a dip..."

"Hunting someone."

"Is she prettier than me?"

The bull merely grunted.

"Ooo. You know how I love a mysterious man."

"Bull."

"Even better," she cooed. He saw her eyes glance behind him. "Looks like your ship's just come in." She added, more quietly, "Here's to hoping mine will one of these days."

Mograg boarded the zeppelin. He walked below the deck, near the propellers. He watched them with curious eyes. While it carried him across the ocean, he began making sketches in a small book he carried with him. The sketches carefully detailed the turn of the blades, their angles, and his estimates of their size compared to the thrust they produced.

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Vox Infernal, Part II

Mograg still had not told Winatsha of the voice before they broke camp that morning and went their separate ways. A night's sleep had put the matter largely out of his mind. Other needs took precedent over somewhat clouded memories of the previous day. She was to spend the day on several tasks. Mograg prepared himself for the day's fight. Ogres that day, for the orcs of Garadar, and their war beads for himself. He felt an affinity to these orcs. He felt at home among them.

A long day of battle ensued. Night approached and he returned to the orc village. Tired and feeling the heat and burden of his armor, he stripped most of it away and stowed it. It was no lighter on his back, but he could set the pack down whenever he was not in motion. He replenished his ammunition pouch and set out again to Shattrath. He had business to attend there that could not be accomplished here. As he dismounted his wyvern, he caught the slightest hint of a familiar scent on the air. His business was forgotten. He smiled and walked into the bank directly to Winatsha, who returned his smile. "Fancy meeting you here," he grinned. She looked up to him, returning the grin. "How are you, love?"

All hints of happiness vanished. "Mmm..." She glanced around the bank, surveying the other patrons nervously. "I am..." she started. She fidgeted with her tail. "I am... well enough."

This is going to be like pulling teeth. "Well, that was terribly convincing," his voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Walk with me?" she pleaded.

He nodded his assent. "Let me check my mail quickly?" She nodded to him.

"Of course," she said. He returned her nod.

"Then, walk with me." He grinned. She's hunted. They walked together to the mailbox at the rear of the bank. The Aldor and other neutral parties there paid little heed to them. He checked the mailbox. "Nothing. Good." He smiled, more genuinely. "I prefer it that way. Shall we?" She smiled a bit, nodding absently to him. They walked toward the inner city of Shattrath, nearer the portals. She's hunted, and she reveals it to everyone around her, around us. "So, where shall we walk?" he asked casually. She gave him only a blank look. Scared beyond the capacity for rational thought. "We could go see a bit more of the fire festival, if you like," he offered.

"I..." she started again and fidgeted with her tail. "If you wish."

"It doesn't sound that you do. Tell me where you would like to go?" Or tell me where you do not wish to be, that would do.

She peered about, her eyes landing on faces for a moment before the next. Does she even know who stalks her? "I would prefer not to be around so many... One of our camps, perhaps? Or Mulgore? Or the Lower Wilds...?" she trailed off. She has no idea.

"Mulgore is close, in a way. Let's go there." The plains. Her stalker will be forced into the open, or to wait. Winatsha glanced around again, a slight frown furrowed her forehead. She nodded. They walked in silence to the portal that would carry them back to their homeland, their very home planet. She gently kissed his cheek before they stepped through.

The time between stepping through the portal and stepping out the other side always caused Mograg anxiety. It was not long, perhaps not even perceptible, but it tugged at his mind each time. That he always landed in the cavern that held the Pools of Vision, that those whom he saw first on each homecoming were undead aligned with the Apothecarium, did not make him any more easy. They strode out of the cavern, across the bridge from the Spirit Rise to the Low Rise, and headed directly down the lift to Mulgore. As they crossed the footbridge that connected the path over what amounted to not more than a small dip in the plains he saw her relax. Break the silence. "So..." What a foolish question. You're still going to ask it, aren't you? "How are you?"

Winatsha squeezed Mograg's hand. She glanced at him with troubled eyes before setting her gaze back on the well worn path. His own eyes had rarely left the path, determining what numbers had come before them, and how recently. He breathed deeply. No other people. Only the usual animals. No demons. He listened, favoring his good ear. No footfalls, snaps of twig, or brushing of grass. Good. Keep alert, bull. "I... have not had an easy day, my love. I do not know where to start," she said. She smiled small and apologetically, squeezing his hand once more. He returned the gesture.

"Anywhere would be better than nowhere, love," he encouraged.

"I found myself wandering this morning, unable to focus on any task for very long. When I finally admitted to myself I was getting nothing done, I decided it was time and past I visited home," she began. He nodded. "My family was gone, left at daybreak on a hunt." She fidgeted with her tail again. He glanced at her. Her eyes were unfocused, unaware. She said, "I mounted, setting out in the direction the hunters went, thinking I might catch up... Before long I found myself at the base of the Twin Colossals." They settled in near the shore of Stonebull Lake.

"Were they climbing again?" he asked. He watched for reflections in the water. He waited for the wind to reveal to him by noise or smell her stalker, but none came.

She glanced over at Mograg, smiling a bit. Her eyes quickly returned to seeing without seeing. "No, I lost the trail before the bridge near the coast. By the time I realized I had passed them, I decided it no longer mattered as much... I just wanted to ride, to feel the breeze and my kodo beneath me. When I saw the Colossal, I suddenly decided to go up, not really allowing myself to think of my limited options for coming back down." He nodded, aware that she did not find the same thrill he found in leaping from that height. She grinned and shook her head a bit. "I am unsure how long I stayed... An'she seemed to have jumped across the sky in the blink of an eye..." She began to fidget with her tail again as she, too, stared at the water.

"He has a way of doing that, at times," Mograg offered. She nodded absently.

"I found myself atop the Colossal, entreating the spirits for guidance." She tucked her hooves close to her body, curling up, into herself. Nervous, now, but a different kind. "The Winds answered my call... they were... not pleased with me."

"Mmm? Alright." He was spiritual, certainly. If she had said she asked the guidance of her ancestors, he would know better how to react. The elements were her guides, in their most raw form. While not a foreign idea to him, he did not relate as well. She hesitated again, still slow to speak what was on her mind. The beast spoke up for him, catching him by surprise, "I would ask why, but I assume you will get to it when the time is right."

She peered at him a long moment before continuing, "I have been blind to certain truths about myself, though the spirits have tried to help me see."

Mograg tilted his head a bit to one side. He did not understand, nor did he understand why it was taking so long to get to the cause of her earlier paranoia. "Go on?" Easy, bull. You love her, remember?

She lowered her muzzle slightly, her eyes transfixed on her hooves as she spoke, "Though I would never have thought of it in such a way, I put myself in a position of leadership when I hung the first scroll from a tree, announcing I was seeking other Shu'halo to rekindle the old ways. I have been pacing in circles, frustrated and discouraged that so few showed interest that I could not see the obvious." She looked to him. "There was little to show interest in." She shook her head a bit and smiled sheepishly. "Why would anyone wish to follow the path I have been on? Chasing my tail as I've been."

Sympathy found its way back into his demeanor. "It's not such a bad tail to chase," he deadpanned. She blinked in surprise, then laughed at him. "Please, continue," he encouraged, politely this time.

She cuddled against him now and sighed softly. "I am at a crossroads... I cannot continue as I have been, that is clear," she said.

"So, you have decided on which path to take, then?" The crossroads, even in their metaphorical sense, must be a very busy place these days. How many of our spirits are standing there? She nodded slowly to him. "That's something, then."

"The easy path is well worn," she continued, "and it stretches out with a welcome familiarity." She lifted her muzzle a bit and returned her gaze to the water, looking out across it. "The path I walk, I will have to beat as I go." Mograg nodded. She found his hand again with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, a gesture returned by him in kind. "I hope you will keep me company..." She smiled softly up at Mograg.

Memories of the the white bull, her Greatfather, who approached him in Feralas as she lay sleeping at their riverside camp suddenly resurfaced in his mind. A path often difficult, yes. You and I both knew that, ancient one. I am not so young myself. Noise on the stone interrupted his thoughts. The Elder of the clan had just made his presence known, and those quiet before called out in greeting to him. "Yes, love, surely." He paused a moment. Directly, this time. No more open-ended questions. "But, this cannot be what drives you to seek near-solitude nor what put the paranoia of stalked prey in your eyes earlier."

She closed her eyes and began breathing slowly through her nostrils. The old nervousness has returned. Good. "I was..." she frowned, "...contacted... early this evening, just before I came to Shattrath." Her speaking was labored and slow, as it had been most of the evening.

"By anyone in particular?" the bull's pragmatic side knew no sympathy. She fidgeted with her tail once more.

The voice from the previous night returned, as if to answer his question. "How are you, Mograg?" Zurrikan. He will wait.

"A presence... in my mind... I think..." she frowned darkly. She hesitated.

The voice came to him again, "Mograg?" Good job, bull. You should not have left her alone. Why didn't you tell her of the voice? Foolish pride.

She found the words, finally, "I think it was what Elder Dusthoof was trying to warn me of." Her hunch is not proof of it. Find out more. And what does he want?

He asked internally of the voice, "A bit busy at the moment. You?"

The voice replied almost too quickly, "Busy? What with?" He's far too interested. He wants something. If I'm right, he wants to know where we are. Ignore him.

To Winatsha he said, "Okay. Care to explain a bit?"

She looked to him with troubled eyes once more. She seemed to him searching for the words she needed. "It warned me..." she settled on, for a moment. She shook her head. "No, it threatened me. It said... it said it was coming for me."

Mograg's pragmatism took over again. "Hmm. Well..." He examined her. "How concerned are you of it?"

"Is there something the matter, Mograg?" the voice asked. Why jump to that conclusion, unless you expect it is so? You do not know me, nor should you care.

She twisted the tuft at the end of her tail. "I am not sure..." Clearly. You fidget and your eyes dart about, but look at you. She peered at him a long moment.

In more of a grunt, "Not concerned enough to keep your arms and armor on you," he pointed out.

She nodded slowly. "I am not certain what the danger is, but I felt malice in its touch on my mind." Zurrikan. "But, I have felt the same type of malice from corrupt spirits," she shrugged lightly. "I was in the Felwood... perhaps... perhaps that is what it was? An unusually strong, corrupt spirit..."

Mograg's next thought was interrupted by another noise over the stone. A soft giggle, amused but timid in being so. It was Milanna. She sounded happy, and he was glad for it. Someone ought to find happiness in the day.

He shrugged at Winatsha, "It could be anything." You still don't tell her? How much more evidence do you need? Are you that afraid to be wrong, to not be infallible?

More sound came over the stone, but right now it was comforting, and he did not dismiss it as noise. This time, the high-pitched voice of a pale elf, her name Ceitidh. She was a huntress, and a relative newcomer to the clan. "Hmm?" she asked after the giggle.

"Oh, ah... just some, ah... interesting goings-on in Thunder Bluff..." Milanna, in his head and in the heads of any clan member paying attention at the time, giggled again.

He looked at Winatsha, "Any hunter that announces its intention to stalk you as prey can only have one goal, in my experience."

Ceitidh asked, "What is it?" She'd asked Milanna, but the same question was unspoken by Winatsha, peering up at Mograg now with a tilted head.

Mograg chose his words carefully. In the interim, Milanna gave an explanation. "A shaman... he is giving the waterwalking ability to people... they are dancing on the pond. N-nothing too exciting... b-but it made me giggle." A sudden wave of guilt crashed over Mograg as Milanna spoke. I need to fix this, but the time is not now.

The huntress Ceitidh laughed, though it seemed not genuine. "Does sound silly," she said, all of it inaudible to Winatsha.

Before Mograg could recompose his thought, the voice interrupted again, "At least tell me where you are... I'd love to help." So be it. But not tonight. I will let you think you are close some other night. I need to know more about you first. His eyes narrowed. He surveyed the horizon, taking it in all there was to see, to smell, to hear. He concentrated on the world around him.

He spoke to Winatsha, "That is to flush the prey out into the open so it might be hunted more easily. One can have another scare rabbits toward them out of the undergrowth. You are, in this case, the rabbit." She frowned slightly. He had not meant to say so condescendingly, but by her actions to this point it was truth enough. Winatsha seemed lost for words.

Ceitidh spoke again, "Umm... is...is anyone else near there..?" Two stalkers, or does he use her to gain knowledge? Time to tell her what you know, before it gets too difficult to explain succinctly.

"That potion-seller seems to have taken an overly-active interest in me," he said plainly. Conversation on the stone continued, while Winatsha looked at him, puzzled.

Milanna asked, unsure, "H-here?"

"Any other of the clan near the bluffs?" Ceitidh called out again. "In Mulgore, perhaps?" I wonder if she has an inkling I might be. She sounded a bit desperate this time, "Mograg?" Shit.

Pretend you heard nothing. "Mmm? Yes?"

"Are you and your lady in Mulgore?" she asked. The guilt crashed down on him again. There's no reason to believe she is in danger. Those who knew before, know now.

Not a yes, bull, and not a no. "Mmm. Why?" Mograg always found it educational to see how ambiguous responses were interpreted. Often, he found, those on the other end of the conversation would reveal clues to their state of mind by assuming them to mean one thing or another. "What you need?" he asked.

"I need you to be cautious... Have you met a warlock named Zurrikan?" She didn't go for it. Zurrikan again. One stalker, or more?

"Mmm. What about him?" he asked internally, still neither confirming nor denying.

To Winatsha he grunted, "Hmm." She tilted her head as she waited. "Hold on a moment, love." He found it difficult to converse like this, in the flesh and in his mind.

"You have?" Ceitidh asked, shakily. Such fear. I thought she was a Huntress? And a pessimist, too, should her fear be genuine.

"Strange things are afoot," he said to Winatsha. She nodded to him, fidgeting with her tail again.

Internally, he asked in a calm voice, "Tell me of him, Ceitidh."

"Don't trust him!" Ceitidh exclaimed. "Not a word!"

"Why is this so?" Mograg asked.

"He... he.. he's evil.. possessed by a demon- possibly several.." she trailed off.

Mograg began to unfasten his pack. "Do you still have those potions that we were sold?"

"How you come to know this?" Stay guarded, bull.

Ceitidh's answered, "Stole...murdered.. tormented.." She had trailed off again. An embarrassment. Still, she is no Shu'halo.

Winatsha nodded and took the three vials, Elixirs of Wisdom by their trade name, from her pack. Mograg nodded to her and removed the two potions for increased agility from a padded pocket. He removed their stoppers and poured them into the ground. He shielded Winatsha with his body. Should they react, she would at least have him as cover. He watched the liquid, waiting. Nothing. "Do the same," he commanded. There's a gold coin well spent.

He asked of Ceitidh, "Tell me more, mmm?" The beast had influence on his words again, though his tone remained neutral. "Less one word at a time, more many word at a time."

Ceitidh babbled, frantic, "He.. he used me... took a shard that belonged to my Love.. killed for it- tortured others because they know me..."

Winatsha, looking at him with confusion, obeyed. She removed the stoppers and poured them into the ground. He was unsurprised to find there was no harm caused by this. "I am hearing a story about Zurrikan," he said. "From one in the orc clan." He rarely spoke of the Tears of Draenor by name. Not anymore. Winatsha blinked in surprise.

Ceitidh continued, babbling, "Is whispering in my ear of a tauren couple he's watching- how he plans to hurt them.." A soft gasp was heard in his mind. Milanna.

Mograg now spoke to Winatsha, "To sum up..."

She interrupted, "He is contacting me..."

He cut her off and barked his command, "Ignore it." More civil, he continued, "He's looking for us, which I knew. He's possessed by an array of demons." Winatsha shuddered at the word. "She says he took a shard that belonged to or came from her love, killed for it, tortured others because they know her."

Ceitidh, now sobbing, "and how it's my fault.." Then why have you not done something? I thought you are called a Hunter? Do I have the names confused?

"And," his explanation continued, "he is currently whispering in her ear of a taruen couple he's watching, and how he plans to hurt us, presumably." Winatsha's eyes fly wide. "And something about it being her fault."

No pity, no remorse, and certainly no fear. "And... Why you do not end him?"

Audibly, Mograg sighed. Alright, a little bit of remorse.

"How?" Ceitidh asked of him.

The beast within him demanded control. Mograg allowed it only to be heard, "Same way I end any other demon any other day? Or is he super-demon? Made of bullet-proof demon-stuff?"

Ceitidh sighed, inaudibly. "He has several in him. And the shard keeping him alive contains part of my beloved's soul as well." Pfft. "Though, I guess I have mostly been afraid..." That's more like it.

The beast in Mograg called out, taunting, "Is okay. I have several shells." It's fear that stays her hand. She is weak.

"Put on your gear," he told Winatsha. "Until I get more information, I think it's best we go to Nagrand." She nodded. He began to pull his armor on. He knew she would go to camp. He needn't speak it. As he pulled his goggles down over his eyes he asked, "Shall we?"

"I am ready," she said.

"I shall see you there, love," he assured her. He blew a kiss to her. She approached and kissed him lightly on the cheek. They stood, facing each other. She started to teleport, and he after her. They would not arrive together, but he would not leave her behind. In a moment, he was untold distances away, back in the orc village of Garadar. He summoned his wyvern to him and took wing. While flying over Nagrand he asked one last question of the huntress, "How is it he knows I know you?"

"He doesn't. He chose you at random. I'm just grateful I do know you and can warn you," came the reply.

Mograg grunted. He would be at camp soon.

"The rest of the story, as I've gathered it so far," Mograg said as he dismounted the wyvern, "is that he is kept alive by a soul-shard of her now deceased love, and we were chosen at random." Winatsha frowned darkly. "I'd say we were at the wrong place at the wrong time, but we were headed to the Bluff. It seems like the right place for us to have been. Several demons inhabiting one undead body seem more out of place." She nodded.

More talk on the stones. Athalia had arrived. Mulkanus greeted her, and she returned in kind. Ceitidh spoke up again, "I know it's my fault this monster is loose- even though he admits to using me... And I know I have to fix it. Somehow." She accepts blame then makes excuses. She accepts responsibility and has no plan. It shames her, and now she must speak of it. Good. Maybe it will drive her to end it sooner. I will use that later, if I must.

To Winatsha he spoke again, "Personally, I don't know that I trust her any more than I do him at this point. I don't really know her at all. She is one of the new ones. A pale elf."

Winatsha tilted her head and looked at him. "But... didn't you say she is from your clan?"

Ceitidh sighed in his head, "Just please- all of you- beware of Zurrikan."

He looked at Winatsha. He was incredulous, and cold. Had she forgotten already? Surely, she must feel the scar on his belly, though the length of his fur conceals it. She knew its story. She knew of that betrayal, and of the one that followed. Young. Very young. "I've been given more than enough cause to not trust clan members simply because the elders thought it wise to induct them."

She blanched and nodded. "I'm sorry... of course..." She fidgeted with her tail.

He nodded, then shrugged.

They settled into camp. It was not the easy rest to which they were accustomed. After long moments of silence, Mograg finally spoke again. "I'm not going to worry overly much about this, love. Enough to put on my armor, but not enough to hunt him. I'll leave that to her." She nodded. He thought about demons, and the last hunt he went on for any of appreciable power. He hunted with the clan, then. "Frankly, I've met an Eredar. In the realm of big, scary demons the little guy we saw in Mulgore is about as worrisome as a cloudy day."

Winatsha looked at him with slightly tilted head. "Eredar?" she asked.

"Mmm.... Hrm. If I understand everything properly, which, well, I've been known not to follow Orcish conversations before... Eredar are big demon-corrupted draenei. Or, are demon-corrupted and look more like the draenei did. Something along those lines. Demons from yet another world."

She frowned, nodding slowly. "I see."

"If you do, you're one up on me," he gave a slight smirk. She grinned. "The more I learn of history, the more convoluted and implausible it seems."

"Mmm, perhaps that is why the old stories are told in such simple terms," she offered.

Mograg smiled. Young. Very young, but not without her own wisdom. "Mmm. Probably so. Though, our oldest stories have no need to explain demons from alien planets."

She nodded, "That is true."

They did not sleep at camp that night. They stayed there the remaining evening, but before sleep they sought refuge in Garadar. He had come to know several of the orcs there personally. They've slept there before, when there was no cause for worry. They would sleep there tonight, to ensure no cause would make itself known.

Read more...

...summary only

Vox Infernal

Act your age, bull. This is hers. It would be no more right of you to take control of the situation than it was of them to do so. It is not your place. She is smart. She will do as the spirits guide her. It is not your place, though most of them are your clan.

Mograg frowned as he continued to watch and listen to Winatsha's gathering be trampled by so many who talk over everyone else. He felt especially bad for some, those who were new to the circle and had expressed interest in what Winatsha was trying to do, yet were given no room to speak. He felt terrible for an undead woman who called herself Ruth, gifted with a very pleasant singing voice matched by the sharp wit to conjure songs on the spot, and knew many more from her childhood. She was going to sing for the group at Winatsha's request when one who was so elevated within Mograg's clan, and by others, had the audacity to walk in to the meeting and spout his disapproval at some poor youngster who knew no better. Embarrassment had long overtaken anger at the situation, and he stayed his tongue. This is hers.

Of those who had paid visit, some had shown proper respect, but it was rare and fleeting. Stamp never arrived. Mograg had sought to speak with him on a matter that he felt urgent. Perhaps he had informed the others of Winatsha's gatherings. The last gathering had just been the three of them. This week, the clan descended on the shamanness, caught unawares. In a word, she was overrun.

As Ruth spoke her farewells, he could hear that group disturbing the tranquility of the village once more. They shouted to one another like children. Ridiculous. Do not give in, bull. Act your age, even if they do not. His will was not as strong as his rational mind implored him to be. He bellowed out above the rest of the din, yelling in Orcish, "Shut up, all of you. Show respect." The yelling ceased. Winatsha paid little attention to his outburst nor his muttering that followed. The undead woman chuckled lightly and concluded her farewell, promising more songs of her youth as she recalled them.

It was hearing his name that caught his attention again. Inaudible to the others near him, the higher-pitched voice of a pale elf, her name Ilemnemis, intoned in his head. "I am sorry, Mograg. I just don't want one more person mad at me. And Meo, well, he is a legend." So rarely did he actually enjoy that voices of those within his clan, their stones attuned together as part of the induction ritual, could invade his own thoughts.

The effort of will to cause his own voice to imprint similarly on those in the clan had become negligible through much repetition. Many had practiced such that they might push not only their own thoughts through the stones, but the sounds of their environment and feelings of their own moods and gestures as well. Some, given the right concentration, seemed to be able to describe in excruciating detail a particular object just by speaking its name. Mograg did not care for such noise, nor did he wish to make it. He did, however, prefer to grunt and make other inarticulate sounds when the occasion struck. Sensing the time was right, he replied with a simple, "Pfft." It said little, implied nothing, and meant less. The one known as Meo made an inquiry, subsequently, in an apparent attempt to assess Mograg's intention. Mograg by then had lost interest in it entirely and his mind focused once more on the conversation around him.

Ruth departed to join the others. Two bulls remained. One of Winatsha's small group, Nchabichih, and the young bull who made the wild claims earlier. Nchabichih spoke his farewells and made motion onward. The young bull tarried a bit longer, seemingly lost for what to do next. In that time, yet another of his clan made her way to Winatsha and Mograg. Her name was Key. Mograg would not be quick to call her friendly, but certainly always polite. Mograg, frustrated with the evening, was less so. As Key began to bow to Winatsha and Mograg, he pointed toward the others and stated, "All the odd ones go that way. So, you are best to stay this way." He smirked at her, but his feeble attempt to hide his disdain with humor was seen through easily. She stopped mid-way through her bow, gave a scowl, and headed deeper into the village of Bloodhoof toward the others. The young bull, at a loss, followed. Well played, you old fool. She meant no harm whatsoever. Hopefully, she will be quick to forgive and forget the offense.

The goal, though, had been achieved. He and Winatsha finally stood together without others underfoot after a long evening of waiting. Winatsha's slow nod in response to his curtly asked, "May we?" was a reminder to him that it was well beyond time to regain his calm. "Good," he said, and offered his hand to her. She squeezed his hand and leaned heavily against him as they made the walk back to Thunder Bluff from Bloodhood Village.

Shortly after they crossed the bridge over Stonebull Lake, Mograg spoke. "I am sorry for that, love."

She blinked in surprise. "What have you to be sorry for?" She looked at him, the confusion evident in her face.

Mograg had become aware some time ago that he was perhaps too quick to see wrongdoing, and even more rapid with an apology. "Hmm. Alright, perhaps nothing. I was going to apologize for my clan, that they descended upon your gathering and took it over as their own. Perhaps you do not see it the same as I do." One who he had met just the previous evening, a self-deprecating Tauren who was much lauded for his cooking, rode past on his kodo. "And that one is on his way to join them."

Winatsha fidgeted with her tail a bit. "I had hoped for greater attendance... you have heard me often enough to know my disappointment when none have shown. But now..." Winatsha frowned.

Mograg interrupted, "It's not the number. It's the lack of respect they have shown."

Winatsha replied, "I am the one who put the posters on every tree, post, cairn... if there is a fault, it is mine." An undead man in a tuxedo walked past them as they neared the lifts up to the Bluff, exclaiming an Orcish sound of surprise from behind them. Winatsha continued, "I was surprised to see Issaela, but, pleasantly so."

The undead man now demanded their attention. "Hello there!" Mograg and Winatsha turned. The undead man waved and called out, "Big guy!"

"Mmm?" Mograg watched him through the lenses of his goggles. The lens over one eye spun slightly, focusing.

"You look like a nice strong man, yes. Help a corpse out?" the undead man spoke cheerily.

"Bull, but, go on. What you need?" The Orcish words, once more on his tongue, felt as foreign as ever.

"Business is slow... would you buy something, maybe?" He seemed the part of a salesman. Already, too, he was at least trying to earn honest coin instead of begging for it as Mograg had seen so many other times.

"Mmm. What is it you sell?" Mograg asked.

The undead man laughed. "Gone and forgot my trade..." Perhaps not a salesman, after all. Either very new, or knew how to give that impression. "Yes, you may call me Zurrikan. My trade is potions. Buy a bottle?" Zurrikan paused briefly, his focus becoming Winatsha. "Or the lady!" The undead man bowed politely before Winatsha, who appraised him with a slightly tilted head. He had already made his appraisal of her. "You look... erm... spiritual... Buy an herb, perchance?"

Winatsha returned his bow with a curtsey, smiling at the undead man. "The Eathmother provides all the herbs I could ever want for."

"Oh, I'm sure she does." Zurrikan smiled at Winatsha, who maintained her own smile at him. "But how often does she have a full bushel of Liferoot? Or a petal of Arthas' Tears?" He had missed his mark. She was no alchemist.

Mograg interjected, "Mmm. Which do you have made?" The bull had meant the potions that the undead man had purported to sell.

"Oh, my last few batches, yes. Elixir of Wisdom, Elixir of Minor Agility, and Discolored Healing Potion." The trade names for each potion were commonly spoken by both those who produce and consume them. "I can make others by request, yes, but that is what's on me..." he quickly added.

"The one for swiftness of hand. How much, mmm?" Mograg still respected the salesman for making an effort. Most of these things are traded through the auction house. It was somehow more satisfying to purchase this from someone face-to-face.

"Perhaps I could find use for an Elixir of Wisdom..." Winatsha added.

"Oh, I believe in kind trade. Do name your price." Zurrikan politely bowed, and Mograg did so in return.

The civility of the gesture reminded Mograg of his own manners, "Mmm, first, I am called Mograg. It is rude of me not to tell you so, when you tell me your name. I am sorry."

Winatsha blushed softly, now reminded by Mograg. "And I am Winatsha."

"No problem, my good steer." Mograg smirked as the undead man referenced him as such. He began to bow repeatedly to Winatsha. "A million times of apologies for not asking, my lady." She smiled, shaking her head a bit. "I have two bottles of agility left."

"Mmm. I would give a gold coin for those." Mograg had a sense for what they would sell for at auction. He expected to haggle, so priced them a bit low.

Zurrikan laughed. Mograg readied himself for the haggling. Zurrikan ceased laughing, and surprising Mograg continued, "Oh... erm I mean yes! A fair price!" He produced the potions and handed them to Mograg, "There you are... heh... Wonderful." Zurrikan grinned at Mograg, who promptly thanked him. "And the lady wanted the fancy stuff, hmmm?"

"And how many of the wisdom elixirs have you?" Winatsha asked.

"I have three in my pockets, and ten more in the bank," he replied.

"Mmm, would fifty silver each be a fair price? If so, the three you have at hand will do nicely," she offered.

Zurrikan gave off a huge smile. "I dunno... that's scratching it... but, okay!" He laughed as the exchange of coin for vial was made. Rubbing his new coins together he said, "Thank you, good... cow... people..." He smiled, more innocently.

Mograg chuckled and Winatsha laughed softly. She admonished, "We prefer Shu'halo... or at least Tauren."

"Oh yes, Tauren." Zurrikan laughed as Winatsha smiled. "I forgot, mmhmm. I'll be back up to the city then... you snatched up my best merchandise. At a wonderful price, I might add." Another bow, this time for departure.

"Good night, Zurrikan. May trade treat you well." Mograg bowed, Winatsha curtsied, and the undead man went off alone, cackling. Mograg and Winatsha gave him plenty of room to get ahead before ascending on the lift themselves. They settled in near the shore of the pond, and Mograg begain to speak his native Taurahe again. "Not a bad one, him."

No sooner than Mograg spake it than a voice began impressing itself upon his own thoughts. "Mograg, was it?"

Presumably, it was Zurrikan once more. One day, bull, you will have to rid yourself of this accursed stone. He reflected briefly on the time that he threw it away as he walked down the main road of Durotar. To his dismay, the words "If found, return to Mograg. Reward." he had once had carved on its backside did their job unfailingly.

Winatsha, with no way of knowing that the conversation went on silently between Mograg and the now presumably absent Zurrikan, agreed. "Mmm, he seemed pleasant enough."

"Mmm. That is me," his reply to the voice came naturally, and seemed to hit its mark.

"Good name..." the voice continued.

Aloud, Mograg spoke only the word "Certainly," now agreeing to Winatsha's agreement, absent-mindedly.

"You're no doubt an admirable figher? Am I right?" the voice continued.

"Ah, mmm. Sort of, but, thank you. It depends on what you mean. I shoot more than I swing a sword," Mograg replied inaudibly.

"Right right... The dog. You're a hunter, then?"

"A hunter, yes." Mograg's patience began to wear thin again. Perhaps he has work for me now.

Winatsha leaned heavily against him. Almost on cue, the voice asked, "And how do you know that woman?"

Mograg wrapped his arms around Winatsha as he replied, "I have known her some time. She is my love."

"Your love... delicious..."

"Delicious?" That's not a word to describe this, bull. You know more than enough Orcish to know that his choice of word here is somehow wrong. Why are you answering him? He is not known to you, and not to be trusted. Trust your instincts. You know better. Mograg debated with himself briefly. Part of him knew that his paranoia was irrational. Part of him knew it was well-founded. He mulled it over, cursing himself for his mistake. No need to worry her, at least not yet. Speak.

To Winatsha now, Mograg spoke in a much more subdued tone and through his smirk. "I don't think I'll be winning any popularity contests within the clan soon."

She tilted her head a bit to look at him. As she did, the voice prodded, "Mograg, tell me. How is Winatsha? Doing well?"

"Why do you say that, love?" she asked.

He just saw her, just met her. He just met you. There is no good reason for him to ask this. The questions have begun to get too personal too quickly. He is trying to establish rapport with you, bull. This is a deception. Do not give into it. "She seems to be. Why do you ask?" Mograg answered the question silently with a question of his own. To Winatsha he grinned a bit.

The voice continued, rapidly. "No reason no reason. Just trying to be nice." After a moment of hesitation it continued, "Don't you find it odd that you're hearing a voice? Most people lose it at this point..."

Zurrikan walked up exclaiming, "You two are too cute!" He sat down, uninvited, near them.

Mograg continued in Taurahe to Winatsha, "One does not publicly call out many of them as disrespectful all at the same time and become more popular for it. Such is the way of things." Satisfied that he had finished that part of his conversation, he looked to Zurrikan.

Zurrikan mimicked a fragment of the Taurahe that Mograg had spoken, "Yes yes... Kee awak rah ovaktalo and all that..."

Mograg continued his conversation with the voice in his head, now aloud, "Hearing a voice is a small worry at this point, Zurrikan. I hear too many, more than I care for." He let out a hearty chuckle.

Zurrikan addressed him, "Eh? What are you talking about?"

Mograg tilted his head from side to side. Either the voice is not his, he's playing a game, or his sanity is not there. It does not matter which. Trust your instincts. He grunted.

Zurrikan spoke, "You're strange... The both of you..."

A young bull speaking in Orcish more broken yet than Mograg's trotted up to them. "You like kill Alliance?"

Mograg replied, "Only when it must be done."

"There two here. One rogue, one druid. Last time I saw them druid was on elevator."

The voice returned, "He's not the brightest, is he?"

If the voice is not Zurrikan's, it belongs to someone who perceives the area around him. If it is Zurrikan, he plays games or is not himself sane. Be more wary, bull. Mograg gave no reply, neither internal to the voice, nor outward to Zurrikan. Instead, he spoke to the excited young bull, "Probably here for the fires." Winatsha sighed, and the young bull trotted off, presumably to find someone else to engage in unnecessary combat so he might be a spectator.

Zurrikan asked, "No doubt you two share a home... Nearby, perchance?" Zurrikan yawned sleepily.

"Our people are, mmm, nomads. We are much the same. We sleep where we are tired." Well done, bull. You have kept control of the situation. No one knows any more, it is truth enough, and Winatsha won't be compelled to answer him further.

"But there are so many lovely homes in this city... It's a wonder you haven't staked one as your own..." Zurrikan continued.

The young bull returned, once again insisting that because the guards had become alarmed that there was cause for bloodshed. "If they are Alliance," Mograg assured him, "and they are here, then the guards will be alarmed one way or the other." The young bull wandered off again. Mograg shook his head and shrugged. He was thankful for the interruption to the line of questioning.

To Mograg's dismay, the undead man continued. "There are empty houses the size of that weapon shop on the other side of town... Always wanted a house of my own..."

Mograg smiled, falsely now, at Zurrikan. He was weary, and Zurrikan had become the source of his weariness. Zurrikan now turned and poked roughly at Gunnar. The normally docile wolf growled. Mograg offered, "More gentle, and he will be more gentle, too. Then you only must to worry about drowning in slobber." Must to worry. Well done, bull. Leave him thinking you're more simple than you are. Mograg grinned, in part at his own cleverness, but more that Gunnar's change in demeanor indicated that he was not alone in not trusting the newcomer.

"I don't know... Dogs never seemed to like me," Zurrikan said. He sighed.

"Most times, he is very friendly," Mograg assured.

"Oh burn it all... I must off... Till then, Mograg." He smiled at Winatsha, and addressed her by name. She waved.

"Good night, Zurrikan." Mograg returned to his native tongue and spoke to Winatsha. "I may have made a friend," he said, facetiously. "Where were we?"

Winatsha looked distracted. She said, also returning to her use of Taurahe, "We were talking about the strange turn of events at tonight's gathering..." She fidgeted with her tail.

It was one of her nervous habits. She did so frequently. Earlier, at her gathering, one who she had not known long herself had pulled her away from the rest. She had been troubled by whatever had been said, but speaking of it had to wait until later. "Mmm. You've been upset by the message you received."

Winatsha frowned a bit, nodding. "I am... unsure... what to make of it." She peered up at him a long moment, her eyes troubled.

She had kept some things secret from Mograg in the past. He was never sure whether he should ask at any given time for more information. "Would you like to share the message with me, then, or no?" Mograg asked.

"Elder Dusthoof seems to think there is a danger coming, though, he could not put a name or face to it," she replied.

Zurrikan. "Love, so far he has told you only what is either obvious or so vague it cannot help but to be true." Mograg emphasized his neutrality toward it with a slight shrug.

She frowned slightly and nodded slowly. "He speaks as the spirits do, with riddles and a shadowy tongue. But that does not mean his warning should be dismissed." She twisted the tuft of hair at the end of her tail between finger and thumb.

"Nor should it be readily believed as prophecy," he argued. Winatsha nodded. "It reminds me of something I was told once." She tilted her head as she listened to him. "Sometimes communication must be more vauge and irritating than is absolutely necessary to convey certain dangerous complexities." Winatsha frowned at him, shaking her head a bit. "No?" he asked.

"I did not realize you spoke with spirits, love," she grinned ruefully.

"I speak with engineers." Winatsha blinked, then laughed softly. Mograg continued, "A gnomish engineer taught me that turn of phase, painstakingly enough."

Winatsha sighed softly, leaning heavily against Mograg. He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I will try not to worry about his warnings, though I cannot discount them either. Even he was unsure what danger he was warning me against."

"Going gray prematurely from too much worry, I'll bet. Just for maximum irony." Mograg's humor was short-lived. "The fact of the matter, love, is that we both put ourselves in harm's way on a daily basis. We go up against risks both seen and unseen, with little more than the leathers and metals we clad ourselves in, and we do not blink." She nodded. "It is, very much, the way of things for danger to be coming at us. Always." Zurrikan. "The only real difference could be that this is, instead of the random violence to which we are usually subject, this might be a targeted violence."

"But he spoke of a broader danger... he said, 'A shadow gathers in the land of elves... and it has turned its now open eye upon Mulgore'..." she recited.

Pragmatically, Mograg asked, "He didn't happen to mention which set of elves, did he? The dark ones are a touch harder to see in the shadows."

Winatsha shook her head. "I thought he spoke of the pale elves' lands... but, he could have just as easily meant the dark elves," she admitted.

"I do not discount that he may be right. But until we know what he is or is not right about, or until we have a plan to discover what that might be for ourselves, we are without aim." Winatsha nodded her agreement against Mograg's shoulder.

"He asked only that I stay alert," she said.

Mograg nodded. "Stay alert, then, but to him as well." Stay alert to many. You, too, old bull. She nodded once again. "If one has grave portents that they believe are significant, they are not shared in private. What could he have to gain by doing so?" Not panicking others unnecessarily. It's the same reason you do not worry her over the voice right now. Quite hypocritical tonight, aren't you?

"My instincts tell me he means well, but..." she trails off as an over-sized cat pads over to where they sit. There is uncertainty in her demeanor, and the smile she offers to their friend is weak at best.

"Hello, Slyvos," Mograg calls to him.

"Greetings, Slyvos," Winatsha adds.

"Seems I just walked in on something serious," the older bull and long-time friend of Mograg and Winatsha observed. Mograg shrugged a bit in response. "Eh?" he prodded.

"It's hard to know for sure. How are you, friend?" he asked in return.

"Mmmm," Slyvos intoned.

Mograg and Slyvos occasionally played a game where they communicated only in grunts. They were usually careful not to play it around others, however. "Mmm?" Mograg insisted.

"I'm not sure," said Slyvos as he laid down next to the couple.

"Tough day in the acid mines, Slyvos?" Mograg asked.

"Not really... just not thinking straight, eh?"

Mograg nodded, "Fair enough." He turned his attention now to another undead who had sat near the group on the adjacent shore of the pond. "Hello, X." He slipped back into Orcish.

X, who likely had a longer name but it was either never revealed to or remembered by Mograg, responded, "Evening, Mograg. How might be things?" Winatsha glanced from the undead to Mograg.

"They might be many ways, but, they are this way," Mograg grinned a bit. "And you?"

"Many ways as well. Currently the way has led me here once more." X chuckled.

Mograg nodded. "There are others, too, down at Bloodhoof. There was a small get-together there when we left it." Mograg had first seen X after a long absence the previous night at an informal clan gathering. "Many are about tonight." Mograg smiled politely.

"Oh? Well. Perhaps I will check that out later, but I am enjoying the lake tonight...."

Mograg nodded. "Good good." He indicated each in turn as he introduced his companions to the newcomer, "X, this is Winatsha and this is Slyvos."

X splashed the water with one gloved hand and watched the ripples. "A pleasure to meet both of you."

Winatsha nodded to the undead man. "Greetings... X?" She glanced from him to Mograg.

"Yes. That is what I am called," X confirmed.

To Mograg's side, Slyvos fell asleep. "Any fun thing go on after I leave last night?" Mograg asked of X with a grin.

The sleeping druid spoke, "Just some ruckus..."

X nodded to him, "Pretty much. I did not stay long, however."

Mograg gave a short laugh. Slyvos, still sleeping, added "... cherry pie, too." The group peered at Slyvos.

"Mmm?" Mograg asked of him, glancing over to notice that he'd fallen asleep.

"Didn't hear about that part," X offered.

Mograg shook his head. Slyvos continued, "Bour-bon... cherry." Mograg chuckled quietly.

X laughed, "Ah. I see."

"At least, the dreams he has are good dreams," Mograg observed.

"Must be nice," said X.

Mograg nodded, "I would think." He asked, "How you keep yourself busy, X? You say you are busy since last time I see you."

Slyvos woke. He shifted from his cat form to his Tauren form and smacked Mograg over the head with his staff. "Bad dog."

Winatsha blinked. "Slyvos!"

"Hey!" Mograg called up to him.

X only chuckled. The druid quickly shifted back and returned to sleep. "Odd one, isn't he?" asked X. Mograg grinned at X.

Winatsha grinned, nodding a bit. "He is..." She glanced at the sleeping druid, "... one of a kind."

Sylvos tossed and turned a bit, so his head was now on a downward slope from the rest of his body. "Watch it, Slyvos. Blood will drain away from your brain like that." Mograg let out a hearty chuckle and winked at Winatsha. Slyvos slipped into the water and quickly took on his water form.

Slyvos barked at Mograg. "MONSTER!" Winatsha shook her head, grinning. X stared on as the scene unfolded, leading him to laugh heartily.

"I am called worse," Mograg replies. Winatsha smiled lovingly at Mograg.

Slyvos, now soaked, climbed out of the water and hugged Winatsha. She grinned.

"One of a kind. Heh," X chuckled as a grinning Mograg received a similar wet hug from the druid. Winatsha nodded to him. Slyvos then peered at X, grinning wickedly. He shifted back to his cat form and cuddled up against X, causing no small amount of discomfort on the part of the undead man. "Ah... erm..." X stammered as the other two grinned.

"He follow you home, you keep him," said Mograg as X glanced at the cat next to him.

"Feed him cheese," Winatsha offered.

"He is house-broken," continued Mograg. After the right length of pause he uttered, "Kind of."

Winatsha nodded, "Mostly."

"I don't think he'd like my current home..." X rebutted.

Slyvos, never shy when he wanted food or drink, asked, "Say, there.... X... have some cherry grog? Bit of pie? Bagels?"

X looked over at the cat and shook his head. "Don't drink. And don't eat much, either."

"Grapes?" Slyvos tried again.

"Nope," said X.

"No?" Slyvos asked one last time. He then prowled over to the wolf Gunnar and sniffed him. "Bet this Hole ate it all. Ate it all up, eh? Bet you did," he spoke to the wolf.

X let out a short laugh as he and the rest watched Slyvos. Slyvos tapped Mograg on the head with his staff. "Ah, much more nice," Mograg said as Winatsha peered up at Slyvos.

"Stand up." Mograg obliged and followed Slyvos as he walked. "Stand just there, eh? Now... Come this way." Mograg shrugged and followed the old bull to the spot as Winatsha watched, her head tilted in curiosity. Her turn was next. Slyvos turned to her and pointed. "Stand up," he commanded. Winatsha regarded him with arched eyebrow, but obliged him as well.

Mograg, who had found himself nearer X, whispered, "One of his favorite games. 'Come this way.'"

"I see," said X.

Slyvos addressed the wolf. "C'mere." Without hesitation, the wolf trotted along beside the druid until he was asked to stay. Slyvos then beckoned to X, who similarly gave in to the wishes of the old bull. They were now around the pond at more or less even intervals. "Right here, eh?"

"All... right..." X said, resigned, boggling in confusion at Slyvos.

"Now..." the druid said and raised his hands to the sky. He muttered under his breath. Within a brief moment a storm cloud gathered over the small pond. Lighting flashed, hitting the water repeatedly, causing steam to rise from its surface. "Stew's up," the druid concluded. Mograg, used to the antics, grinned.

"Stew?" asked X.

"That's stew, right?" X looked down at the water. Other than a few steam pockets from where the lighting hit, the water was largely unchanged. Not a single fish, it had seemed, was harmed in the making of Slyvos' stew. "I read about it in this book, eh?" Winatsha walked out onto the surface of the water, to the astonishment of an onlooker or two, and knelt down to inspect it more closely. "Says get these ingredients. You mix 'em up." Mograg grinned more broadly as Slyvos continued, "Then you cooks it, eh? This is stew." Slyvos grinned wickedly.

"Well... I'm stew-pified? does that count?" X asked. Winatsha blinked at him.

"Is close, X, I think," offered Mograg, chuckling. Winatsha laughed softly, shaking her head a bit as Slyvos beckoned her over to him once more.

Chuckling, X said, "Heh. I like this one, I think."

Having joined Slyvos on the shore once more, Winatsha asked him, "Mmm?"

Slyvos asked of her, "How's you, eh?"

Winatsha smiled at Slyvos, "I've... had a day."

"Let's have a night," Slyvos said. "Day's gone," he continued. Winatsha grinned.

"It is just about time to call it a night," said Mograg. Winatsha nodded her assent.

"Gah! Always leave me!" exclaimed Slyvos. Mograg gave a short, high-pitched whistle. Gunnar trotted over to his side once more. Winatsha slipped her arm around Mograg's waist. "See them, eh?" Slyvos turned to X. "Always running off. Guess they don't like my stew."

"Heh, well, that is there prerogative, my friend," said X.

"Pfft. Some of us need sleep some times," Mograg replied.

Winatsha smiled gently, "We cannot keep up with you, Slyvos." She winked slyly at him.

"Or is it the other way around?" Slyvos countered. Mograg grinned.

"Where shall we camp tonight, love?" Winatsha asked of Mograg. Mograg replied quietly to Winatsha. She smiled lovingly up at him, nodding.

"Good night, both of you, mmm?" Mograg smiled at X and Slyvos before bowing down graciously.

Winatsha curtsied. "Winds guide you."

"They're doing it again, eh?" asked Slyvos, eliciting a chuckle from Mograg. Winatsha shook her head, grinning. X let out a short laugh. Slyvos raised his hand to the air again, summoning another storm cloud, this time over Mograg and Winatsha. While the lightning seemed to skew a bit further away from Winatsha, several bolts came perilously close to Mograg.

"That one almost got me!" Mograg exlaimed. "You're getting good."

"My aim must be off," said Slyvos, earning another round of chuckles.

"Good night!" Mograg tried, again.

"Stay safe," said X.

"Hold on a minute!" Slyvos called out.

"Mmm?" asked Mograg.

"Did I say day's gone?" asked Slyvos.

"I'll see you there, my love," Winatsha said in their native Taurahe before blowing a kiss to him. He nodded an assurance that he was soon to follow and returned the gesture.

"Look up in the sky," implored Slyvos. "I think it's coming back," he grinned wickedly.

"Might be a bit yet," Mograg replied.

"It was good to have met you, X," said Winatsha. She then waved to Slyvos.

With that, the couple teleported away. They would rendezvous soon at camp. She made it there a bit before him, and had already lit a fire by the time he arrived. They took up their customary spots, leaning back against a tree. Winatsha nudged her way under Mograg's arm, resting her head against his now bare chest, over his heart. He squeezed her gently. "Such strange people, all of them. In their own ways, but, strange."

Winatsha pondered this, her expression thoughtful. "Do you know, aside from you, the most 'normal' seeming people I've spoken to today were undead... Ruth, the potion seller, even X, strange as such a name is, seemed rather calm and normal by comparison."

Zurrikan. "Mmm. Believe me, there will be days that you will wish for undead as normal as they." Sooner, perhaps, than you think. Winatsha shook her head slightly against Mograg's chest. "It has been a long, long day. I am glad it's coming to a close."

Winatsha closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of Mograg's heartbeat. She did this often when she sought comfort. "Mmm... I can't remember the last time I was this tired." She sighed.

"Mmm." Mograg settled in. His eyes closed heavily. Winatsha cuddled closer, and he snuggled with her. "Goodnight, my love."

"Sleep well, my brave hunter." She moved to get a bit closer, her arms holding him tight as she drifted off to sleep.

He does not know you camp here. Sleep, bull. Tomorrow is another day.

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One Fine Day

Without opening his eyes, Mograg put his hand on Gunnar's muzzle and gently pushed the cold nose away. "You know, Hollowgut, if you'd hunt for yourself you wouldn't need to wake me up just to feed you." The wolf whined more insistently, pushing back against Mograg's hand. "Fine, fine..."

The shamaness at his side stirred only briefly as he eased his way free of her, careful as he could be to not wake her. The horizon had only begun to blush with the approach of daylight. The stars were still quite visible above him.

Mograg stood up with a yawn. He stretched as he looked around the camp, bleary-eyed. Thumb and trigger finger came up to clear his eyes, the other hand scratching idly. He looked over to another tree, not far off from where he slept. By its hind legs hung the carcass of a stag, dressed and dripping the last of the excess blood from its open neck. It did not seem to have attracted any unwanted attention, or at least no more than Gunnar's presence held at bay. Glancing a bit further away, the offering of entrails he had left for the other wild creatures seemed to have been well accepted. Later today, he would butcher the stag. It would keep them fed, and the rest of the meat would be sold in town for a fair price.

Two sets of eyes watched from above him as he pulled on a loin cloth from a large pack near the ground where he slept. A smaller sack hung from the same tree as the stag. He retrieved it. From within, he produced a roasted quail and fed it to the wolf, reserving part of it for the dragonling which swooped down to his hand and carried the meat off again. The other pair of eyes, an owl, only watched. It must have had a successful hunt in the previous evening.

He eyed the other contents of the smaller pack. Fruits, hard cheeses, breads, berry juices, skins of water. Breakfast, and plentiful at that, but it would wait. He took only a water skin and replaced the smaller sack in the tree. He returned to his larger pack. From an attached, large leather case he withdrew a fishing pole.

He selected one of a handful of baubles to attach to the line. He patiently waited for a fish, a fairly small one, to let itself be caught. He took the fish from the small hook in its mouth. Working with the quickness of practiced hand, he switched the hook on the line to one much larger, his smaller fish still wriggling in one hand. He set the line for the deep, cold waters of the nearby lake. He was after big fish this morning. He ran the hook through the top of the smaller fish, in the meat below the dorsal fin. He cast the line and smiled as he attached the anchor, a device of his own design, to the handle of the rod. He sank it into the ground where it would be held secure, waiting for the strike. He knelt at the side of the water, cleaning his hands. He went back to the side of the shamaness, watching the water brighten as day chased night from the sky. It might be a few hours of watching and waiting, but the larger fish would make for an excellent lunch.

After lunch, they took what they did not need of the butchered stag to a nearby town to trade fairly for it. Passing by an orphanage, obviously overwhelmed with an influx of little ones, he decided the spirit of the stag would be better honored in their cooking pots. He didn't follow all the Orcish that was spoken to him, but he smiled a bit and waved off the attempt to pay him, meager as the offered coin was. Perhaps he would be back with larger game.

The late afternoon and early evening found them exploring places both old and new. They saw his Little Sister for a while, and she was happy, having spent her day with her love and intending to spend her evening likewise. They ran into an old friend, maybe two, and spent a little time with them as well.

Before sundown, he went off alone with Gunnar and they tracked the right game for the orphanage. The proud clefthoof bull saw him and stomped defiantly toward him. Gunnar, the Brave Warrior, charged after it, barking and growling at the beast so many times his size. He gave the great beast pause, holding it at range for Mograg. Mograg raised his gun and spoke to the clefthoof bull's spirit, thanking him for providing food to the orphans and refugees. He took careful aim. The clefthoof bull fell easily, the final report of Mograg's gun echoing against the mountains.

Several of the orcs saw him dragging the now dressed clefthoof bull toward the village and came to aid him with the burden. When he saw to it that the meat would get to where it was needed, he headed to the lake and cleaned himself once more before rejoining his shamaness for a quiet evening.

They stayed at the camp that evening, but made plans to travel to a new place for a few days, knowing well they would return to this place. In his evening ritual, Mograg maintained his gear, carefully ensuring he would be prepared for the next day. A small fire burned low as they lay down together.

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In the Evening

The orange glow of embers drifting upward against a dark sky and the smells of charring flesh over burning fire are the only evidence that Mograg has returned to camp. Climbing up the hillside to the plateau that has become a new home, the bull can be seen roasting small game. None of his usual entourage are immediately visible. Both the black dragonling and his long-time wolf companion Gunnar have become more independent as of late, hunting for themselves. They still travel with the bull, and he treats them with kindness when they are about, but they no longer stay right on his heels. The cat spirit he has taken to calling Nahima is rarely visible to begin with, but she seems ever-present these days.

His weapons, armor, and pack are in what has become the usual place. Laid out as they are, Mograg has apparently already gone through the effort of maintaining them. They seem to be at the ready, polished and cleaned again to a shine. The bull himself, however, seems a bit more haggard and worn. His eyes are weary. Small patches of his fur are missing, revealing bruises and worse. The large scar on his abdomen, no longer a bright pink as it was when he first acquired it, is a mute reminder that these are far from the worst injuries he has taken.

He sits away from the small fire, leaning back against a tree, eyes half-closed. The meat of some small animal is suspended by two large sticks over the flame. He watches lazily as the meal, sizable enough for two, cooks. He looks up and smiles softly. "Hello, Nayeli. I was hoping I'd see you tonight..."

Suddenly, a large maned cat appears near the bull, which then melds into the form of a female Tauren. Still inexperienced, she has obviously needed to remain unseen by the hostile creatures surrounding the camp, lest she meet with injuries much worse than she saw on the Tauren before her. Milanna returned Mograg's smile, but then furrowed her brow and knelt next to Mograg upon seeing his condition.

"Dearest... why is it that every time I see you, you are more tattered than my letters?" she asks quietly, gently patting the small pouch she carries at her side. She offers another smile, to try to make light of her words.

He chuckles. He looks down at himself and his hands reflexively start to smooth out his fur. "I've had worse, Nayeli. The shredders got the better of me today, just once. One of them had a bit more to him than the rest. In short," he grinned wryly, "I was roughed up by a very large, very angry salad."

Mograg rises to his feet, smiling. He offers his hands to Milanna, urging her to her feet as well. He puts his arms around her and hugs her tightly. He gives a quick kiss to her and says, "I've missed you, Olathe. How have you been?"

Milanna returns the hug just as tightly and blushes with his kiss. She smiles slightly, absently stroking his mane as he holds her, though her gaze does not quite meet his as she replies. "That's a rather... ahm... complicated question, love." Her eyes meet his once more. "But I suppose to put it simply... I have been... er, well enough..." she trails off before pausing a moment, looking a little guilty.

"Have you at least dressed those cuts? I have some mageweave bandages with me... they aren't much, but..." She pulls away slightly to search through her heavy-looking knapsack.

Mograg tilts his head to the side as he watches Milanna. He does not answer her question about dressing his wounds, though it is clear to her she needn't really ask it. She can see that he's not tended to himself yet. Mograg strokes the long braid that falls from his chin, the corners of his mouth frowning slightly in contemplation. "Nayeli?" He takes a deep breath waiting for her attention and to steel his own resolve. "Do not put it so simply when you answer this time, please. How have you been?"

She stares up at him with lowered ears, a hand clasping a roll of pinkish bandages. The druid remains silent for some time, though not out of refusal to answer so much as trying to form the words in her mind. Finally she forces herself to smile a bit.

"Really, love, things have been fine... I have been spending a great deal of time in the Vale and in Dustwallow..." She sighs somewhat wearily. "... where the dragonkin apparently enjoy following my trail..." Her smile turns into a wry grin.

Mograg chuckles quietly. "Well, you're not singed beyond recognition, at least." He now grins, "And, given the number they did on me a time or two, that's no small accomplishment in my eyes." Mograg smiles again at Milanna and looks at the bandages in her hands, "Thank you, my Milanna. You're too good to me."

Milanna smiles again, genuinely this time, and looks a little relieved. She sets down her pack and tears off a long piece of the bandage roll. "Though I'm really not too good to you... or I'd have something a little more durable than this," she giggles softly as she starts wrapping the mageweave around his right forearm. "In a... bizarre way, I should be thanking you. This is, well... practice." A small tug and a firm knot later, his arm was bandaged.

Mograg grins a bit as Milanna cinches the knot of his bandage. "I suppose so. Though, all things considered, it'd be easier to pretend I got the injuries instead." He turns his arm over, then flexes his forearm a bit. "You did a very good job, my love." He kisses her softly once more then stands. He takes her hand in his and walks to nearer the fire. The game, deer by the scent of it, stands on the perilous edge between well-cooked and well-done. He removes the meat from the makeshift spit and asks, "Hungry, my love?" As if on cue, Milanna's stomach grumbles a response. She clasps her tummy, blushing in embarrassment.

"Er... m-maybe a little..." she answers quietly, looking up at Mograg sheepishly. "I-I guess that climb took more out of me than... I'd expected..."

Mograg grins and wipes the blade of a knife clean with a piece of cloth. He carves the meat into two sizeable portions and offers one to Milanna. "So, my Milanna, I caught wind of the Tears celebration." He chews on a bit of the venison steak for a moment before asking, "Did you make it?" The druid takes the offer gratefully and nods.

"As a matter of fact... I did. Well, the tail-end of it, at least," she replies before taking a bite. Upon noticing movement from her bag, she kneels down and opens the flap of a small pocket on her knapsack, releasing a tiny prairie dog. Milanna smiles as she lets the critter crawl up her arm and onto her shoulder before standing back up again. "They seemed to be having a... storytelling contest when I arrived."

Mograg nods. "I half-expected to find out that the gathering had been overrun with Alliance. I'm glad to hear it, at least, ended well. Any interesting stories?" Mograg grins as he watches Ginger pad around on Milanna's shoulder.

"Well... there was a dwarf, and an elf," she giggled. "The dwarf had a bit too much to drink and tried... picking fights at the end, but by then the group was already disbanding." Another bite. "But yes, there were some very interesting stories..." she continued when she had swallowed, her gaze alighting on the ghostly cat nearby.

Mograg follows Milanna's gaze and sees Nahima just before she disappears again. He shakes his head, grinning a bit, "I guess she's being a bit coy tonight. She spent a lot of time manifest today, though, earlier. She's getting quite a bit better at making her attacks felt." Mograg smiles. "One of these days, I might figure out why she's chosen to follow me. Then again," he smirks, "I've yet to figure out why you put up with me." She gives Mograg a shy smile and a blush.

"I think you know the answer to that..." Before Mograg can respond, however, she giggles and once again glances in the direction Nahima had been. "But it seems you are not the only one she follows... that, or there is more than one of her..."

Mograg tilts his head curiously at Milanna. He finishes his bite of venison then speaks, "How do you mean, my love?" He casts a quick glance to a new location, presumably where the cat has moved to now. "I saw her once, on a trip with Shaw. Gunnar chased her away. I went back a second time without him, and the cat spirit stayed with me." Milanna looks thoughtful for a moment.

"It is... interesting, that you mention Sir Shaw... he was the one I was thinking of. He told a story in the contest, of an elf trapped in a saber form... and when he was finished, a ghost cat like Nahima appeared and followed him!" She finishes up her portion and begins to lap any leftover juices from her fingers, but remembers herself and pulls some linen from her pack instead, blushing again in embarrassment. "I, ah, could not tell for sure if it was Nahima... or another saber entirely..." Milanna cleans herself up with a piece of cloth, and then holds a piece to Mograg to see if he would want to do the same.

Mograg grins as he takes the cloth from Milanna. "You know, my love, I first saw you while you were licking hot sauce off your fingers. I thought you incredibly cute then, and nothing has changed." He wipes his hands and smiles, "As for Nahima following Shaw around, too, well, I don't know what to say. If she is an elf trapped in saber form, she acts more a saber than an elf. I don't recall her absence for any length of time lately, but, it's hard to say. She lets me know she's there when she wants to, and other times, I can only guess."

"Hm... well..." the druid began slowly, a finger to her chin, trying to hide her blush from his previous comment, "... I suppose it would be silly to think a spectral cat holds no mystery." She beams at Mograg. "Sir Shaw really did tell that story very well, though; it was easily my favorite. But... Hukari's story won..." she sighed.

"I'll have to talk to him sometime and find out what he's learned. When we went there, he had more questions than answers. Apparently, he's put some time into figuring them out. What was Hukari's story about? Or should it be even repeated?" Mograg forces a small chuckle, but his eyes betray a dislike for Hukari. She gives Mograg a half-smile.

"Well, something about a drunken monkey... tricking the gods into giving him beer... ah, er, I think... I had a hard time following after a while." She giggles softly.

Mograg shakes his head. "You know, I wish I could say that it wasn't exactly the sort of story I'd expect to win..." Mograg breathes in deeply. "Well, either way. It's a shame Shaw didn't win. I can't imagine him competing with depravity, nor can I see the majority not favoring it." Mograg frowns a bit. He opens a full water skin and offers it to Milanna after opening it. Again, the druid takes the offer gratefully and drinks a little before giving it back.

"The contest was judged by a strange orc's Voidwalker... perhaps its idea of entertainment is different from ours?" she suggests feebly with a shrug.

"Ah, right. Thogkresh, I think was his name. And," he pauses briefly in thought, "Krangloth is the orc. I always wonder which is the master in that relationship." Milanna smiles, though she seems to shudder a bit.

"It seems, um, friendly enough... but its voice still... ah, disturbs me, just a little... even just thinking about it..."

Mograg nods. "It's not right, or natural. That the demon is said to be as much a part of the clan as the one who alleges to be its master is wrong." Mograg frowns in reflection. "On the night that Golrath was brought back into the clan, we were gathered up above the inn at Shadowprey Village. I remember that all too well. Krangloth asked if Thogkresh would be allowed speak across the stones to the guild. Few in the guild spoke in support or against this. It was those outside the guild who spoke and said they", he quotes with disdain, "saw no problem with it." Mograg frowns, "One of many times when those outside the clan where given voice on matters that pertain only to the clan. Far from the worst time of it, but it seems the demon is now nearly a full member of the clan. I imagine it stood beneath the falls with its master at induction." Milanna looks over to her right at an oversized and nearly decaying squirrel nearby.

"That I could not tell you for sure. Very rarely have I made it to gatherings recently..." She speaks softly, never taking her eyes off the pitiful creature. "It seems I have not seen much of anyone recently, really. Besides the celebration that is." Her eyes move to the left to look at Mograg and she smiles just a bit.

He watches her for a long moment, the hint of a smile not returned. "Love, we shouldn't stay here. I ask too much of you as it is, and more to have you stay here. We can make it to the camp in Mulgore easily tonight." She sharply turns her head fully toward him, watching him similarly to the way he had just been watching her. Her brow furrows.

"But... you... that is, ah..." she stumbles over her words, not quite able to form what she wants to say. Milanna closes her eyes and takes a moment to begin again. "What I mean is... you shou ld not have to go anywhere you are... uncomfortable for my sake... especially since you do not ask too much of me at all, really... in fact I'd say it was the other way around." She opens her eyes and looks at Mograg soulfully, hoping to emphasize her statement.

Mograg's expression softens as he looks into Milanna's eyes. "My Milanna, I don't think you ask much of me at all. And we don't have to stay on the Bluff to be in Mulgore. Unless someone else has set up there, we still have the camp above the plains." He reaches forward for her hand, squeezing gently. "Besides," he smirks slightly, "This place isn't really comfortable for either of us." Milanna returns the squeeze with a soft chuckle.

"I cannot deny that the plains of Mulgore are much more... pleasant, than this place. I often wonder what caused you to camp here at all."

Mograg begins to gather his gear. He dons his armor, gathers gun and sword, and hefts a large pack onto his shoulder. Soon Milanna follows suit with her own knapsack, Ginger hopping to the ground at the druid's hooves. "Well, Nayeli, the reasons are not as clear to me, either, as I would like them to be. To anyone else, I might say that I'm here because this land needs someone to tend to it. There's no shortage of truth in that. It isn't, though, all that may be said.

"On the night you and I sat near the dwarven hunter's camp in Stranglethorn Vale we spoke about how I have come to feel about the clan, and that my mind then was one of separating from it." He hesitates a moment. "You encouraged me to speak with Ruarc on it, to make my feelings known to him. It wasn't with Ruarc, though, that I was drawn to speak. It was to Kormok. He had been the one to lift Golrath's banishment, not Ruarc. I knew I would find no peace in Ruarc's words." Milanna watches Mograg, ears perked slightly, transforming into her self that speaks little but listens much.

"I spoke to Kormok one night, perhaps two moons ago now. I met him by chance on the Bluff. I asked to know his reasons for lifting Golrath's banishment, and he gave as good an explanation as he might. Still, I felt no peace in it. In my spirit, I felt shame. I felt shame that my ancestors watch me and see me count among those who I choose to call brothers one who has murdered another, and tried to kill more. I felt shame that my ancestors watch me and see me count as my clan those who call one who has murdered another brother.

"When Kormok and I had finished our talk that night on the Bluff, I was both enraged and shameful. I do not remember making the choice to go to the Felwood, but it is where the winds took me. And there I stayed for some days. I sought to not be near those who caused me such rage, to do good in the world to make up for the bad that those who I have called brother have done, and to find peace within my spirit."

Mograg finishes gathering his gear. He douses the small fire. With a digging tool fashioned in a primitive style, he buries the ashes with the dirt he had removed to make the small pit in which it burned. As the two stride toward the camp where they can find wyverns ready, albeit reticent, to carry them to Thunder Bluff, Mograg speaks. "I continue to seek that peace in my spirit, Nayeli. The more I am among them, the less of it I seem to find. Honor seems to be poorly understood by many within the clan. The clan itself seems to be given over to the rule of the mob instead of the rule of wisdom. Those who are not of the clan and those who do not know anything of a situation seem to have as much voice, if not more, than those who are of the clan and do." Mograg breathes in deeply and exhales slowly. The druidess walks beside him quietly, willing to wait as long as Mograg needs to continue.

"When Golrath was brought before the clan by Kormok, it was done during a normal gathering. Many were there who were not of the clan. You were, and in many ways I am thankful for this, not present. This was a grave matter. The very life of Golrath hung in the balance. Many there, while Kormok tried to present what needed to be said, began to call out for his death or to spare his life. Most of them were not of the clan. And one, a seemingly long-time friend of many in the clan, began to peddle his wares in the middle of it. Hukari. Iphito and I had remained silent, watching, waiting for a turn to speak. There were no turns, only one trying to yell louder than another. The only speaking I did before telling Iphito I had enough and walking away from it was when I demanded of Hukari to stop talking. He had sat next to Iphito. I still do not understand why she chooses to associate with him, or indulges in his peacebloom-laced chocolate. I think she is convinced I don't know what it is." He shakes his head while Milanna simply looks thoughtful.

"Anyway, there was no honor in the way it was handled. Kormok attempted, to his credit, to maintain honor but was unable. And there were many who spoke of Golrath one day regaining his honor. One does not regain honor that they willfully forfeit. Golrath had no sickness to him, no magical compulsion to take these actions. He did it of his own accord and, until the spirits of his ancestors made their presence known and renounced him before all of us, had great pride in what he had done.

"At the gathering prior to the one where his banishment was lifted, Golrath chose to stand before all of us and said, in essence, "Everyone who likes me, raise your hand." I did what I could to remain silent, but my anger got the better of me and I spoke up against him. My voice was one of the few that did. I knew then, as I had known, that there were very few who saw him the same as I.

"The day his banishment was lifted re-enforced that notion. Weg, Iphito, and I were those who spoke against him being brought in. Those who were not of the clan or of the clan but too new to it to understand what had happened spoke the loudest. It was when one, a female troll, newest to our clan said to me that I should 'start over again' that I had my fill of it and left. Ruarc did not speak, nor did he seem to care one way or another what was said. The clan, the leaders, and those they keep company with have little sense of honor and less wisdom. This was the last most of the clan has seen or heard from me.

"There is at least one in the clan who misunderstands this. Given all else that has happened, I doubt she is in the minority. Twie, when Golrath was killed, wrote to me to tell me of it and," he continues with a hint of contempt in his voice, "that I can come back to the clan." Milanna's eyes go wide at these words, but she remains silent, allowing him to continue. He breathes deeply again, calming himself. "It was then, Nayeli, that I understood that I could not. It does not even occur to them that my reason for separating from the clan has less to do with Golrath than how the clan chooses to deal with it. Now that he is dead, they assumed I would return and be happy in it." He frowns deeply. Milanna's expression changes from surprise to something softer.

"In the days that I have been called Mograg, I have lost too much of what was good about the one called Takoda. My spirit will not be at peace, Nayeli, until I find it. The Bluff, for all the goodness of it, has made me weak. The orcs, for all they have done for us, have done the same to our people. I see it now as Machtagen spoke of it. I do not wish to be like him, Nayeli, and never find peace in any of it. Until I do not feel shame in my ancestors watching over me, though, I must live more as Takoda and less as Mograg. Do you understand, my Milanna?" She stops and gently takes the bull's hand, encouraging him to stop as well. Milanna looks directly into his eyes.

"I understand... very well, my love. You must be... who you decide you are. I will never prevent you from doing as your heart and spirit guide you... and you must never let anyone else prevent you from as much." She leans up to give him a tender kiss, never letting his hands go. Milanna smiles softly at him, and though there is something in her eyes that implies she has more to say, there is also something there that implies she is not ready to say it, at least not yet.

Mograg stands before Milanna, looking down into her eyes. He squeezes her hands gently and then lets go. As his hands move away from hers, his arms wrap around her. In an embrace meant to draw comfort more than convey affection he holds her tightly to him. His head lowers onto her shoulder, his chin resting on her. He holds her in silence, breathing slowly.

Though she is not sure why, the embrace takes Milanna by surprise. But after a moment, she wraps her arms around his neck, stroking his mane soothingly. She holds him this way, not moving until Mograg decides to do so himself. Even the prairie dog seems to understand, resting herself patiently against the hunter's hoof as though to give comfort of the tiny critter variety.

They hold one another a long while. In time, Mograg whispers quietly, "Thank you, my Nayeli." With that his embrace tightens gently once more then begins to slacken. They pull away from one another, reticently and slowly. One hand seeks hers and takes it again with a gentle squeeze. He looks deeply into Milanna's eyes, his own conveying the exhaustion and appreciation of one who has just been relieved of a heavy burden. The druid caresses his cheek with her free hand.

"There is no need to thank me, love," she whispers with a lopsided smile. She continues after a moment, "Come... perhaps spending time in Mulgore will do more good for you... than you may have originally thought."

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