On White Wings

Chapter One: Solemn Orgin

In an place uncharted, though not significant enough to be brought about in lore, an unnamed location well hidden within a sinking of the endless golden plains, (somewhere in Mulgore if any given direction is significant enough to be brought about at all in such a vast and unchanging place) there was, tucked well in, a small unnamed village. This village was different and quite special. Now villages were not uncommon, but established 'tribes,' so to speak, were. Even the free and mighty Tauren cannot escape from the influence of conformity. Conformity yes, that will never be able to be helped (it cant help itself..), but the Tauren heart remains strong as it has always been, and the Tauren beleives untampered and unwavering. However, influence by forces we shall leave unnamed, for we all know who they are, have driven the nomad nature of a Tauren tribe to a halt. Tauren are meant to roam, not be settled. Regaurdless, Tauren now have a few, bigger villages to be stopped in, and a large capital. Most still wander, for there is nothing that can tame a young restless heart, but the old cannot endure any longer. Forces must be kept to keep the land, and the cities, contained. Outer influence is always a problem, therefore, only the traditions and teachings of a wise Tauren remain. The tribes have vanished into the dust of Thousand Needles.

To each and every thing there is always the exception. Many small tribes still scatter their kodo hide huts on the outskirts and most barren places of the plains. Some of the tribe's leaders have not spoken to other great elders of the plain since before 'the influence.' Once every so often, marked by the ending of the migration of kodo that occasionally happened in serious drought and hard times, the elders would hold a private speaking with their chief. Visions seen, deep memories, and ancient callings would be shared among the better. The chief would then gather young bulls, no adult advisors, to trek the deadly heat of the plains at his side. "Each and every Tauren should learn their place and their strength. Young springs shall be taught to work with one another as the Earth Mother intended." The inexperienced young'ns then had to make the long haul back, as a group, on their own. The chief would return on his own as well. If the chief made it back, his word were good. If he didn't, then it were for the better.

At this particular said village, a meeting of its own was in progression. Mainly consisting of the lead hunters, for there were no war leaders in such a peaceful place, and the two other chiefs with their own best stock and wise men, they all spoke in low utterings among themselves. A few times a year at a time that felt right, a kind of a meeting was held to make decisions that applied to all forgotten tribes within the unsaid area. The wisest and most experienced chief, elected to speak, voiced his honest thoughts, then regulated the conflict among the minority with honest and fair judged tongue.

The more bold and impatient stock began to hiss, fidgeting out of their cross legged position upon their woven tribal marked mat, while one, a simple white with two crossing gray stripes, left itself as bare as the dried plains, having been this way for quite some time, the mat had been there since early that morning, empty as it lay yet still untouched in the refreashing grace of dew. As the blaring sun began to arch high, more and more mats, though less empty and more colorful versions, began to arrive to form a circle with the lone white mat completing it.

One Tauren had not moved. He were first there, coming alone, and sitting cross legged and cross armed upon a mat composed of dark fur from a distant land. Jerking his head, a broken horn was thrust outwards. His snort of steamed air pushed the heavy metal ring bore on his nose upwards slightly at the exhale's fierce intensity. The bull's black, gritty, tuff at the end of his tail twitched, though that were the only real sign of his impatience. The rest of his bulk were masked in fur the color of further darkened soot. His solid colored orbs, an unfeeling yellow. As pushy and intimidating as this man was, he knew much of nature and lived within it. He were the only to bare a staff rather then a fine, and finely sharpened, blade. A brand hindered his shoulder with an odd marking; a closed circle within a circle, crested under with a thin half moon. The massive Tauren's teeth grit closed with an awful clack, matching that of the crackling brush of another approaching up over the hill from the hosting village.

This recently, progressively more common noise shot from a hoof beat and moved across the ground with the thick intensity of wildfire. Reminiscing conversations, agitated, wait stressed words, and uncomfortable fidgeting lulled to silence. The much anticipated and fair judging leader stood rigid on his mat, stationed on the peak of hard shadow cast by the broiling sun directly overhead of the great hunter. All eyes were on him as hard as the beating sun. If only the stunned silence could tell the story..

The standing Tauren was a ghost against the plains. His downy coat and cropped, wispy mane were the pure color of bright clouds on a clear day. Pale horns extended straight out from his bowed head, closed sky colored eyes looking through the ground. The very tip of the white tuff at the end of his tail brushed the golden grass between two marble hooves. The outer layers of them seemed to be translucent, the sheen gemlike with swirls of light touched gray deep withen the bulk, giving a cloudy appearance.

The Tauren meeting members couldn't believe what they were seeing! Not because of his color, everyone well knew this great hunter, but he were known for none of the things he were currently displaying. It were custom for hunters with great skill to wear shining metal in place of leather. This leader choose not to. Instead, he consisted his wardrobe of only leather, usually from beasts that came from distant lands he had once been to. At this incredible moment, his form was cloaked with tattered, torn linen from some untold battle, in place of his proud and rare hunter's leather. And typically at these meetings, no one was quite sure when the white bull had made his appearance. His movements over the plain made no sound nor echo. He moved with such silent grace that the world moved around him and he moved within it, passing into it rather then through it. But now.. Was this the right Tauren..?

Without anyone realizing , the leader had already set himself into a well practiced position upon the pale mat and raised his hallow eyes with a sigh wisping past the ring embed into his nose. As soon as the silent agreement to begin had been put into place, the wise Tauren spoke. There were no questions or controversy. The younger warriors were known to fight a useless point to make themselves known among the highers rather then to speak for their people, but even they knew better of it then to be the first and only to speak out. The white leader spoke soft and in a voice that carried out like far off thunder. With such dexterity in words and lonely experience, the leader spoke of unthought of solutions. He revealed hidden rivers to counter the effects of drought within the village, told of old kodo sleeping grounds hidden away in low plain areas, and put new rules and routes to be followed into effect. All of this was spoken slow and crisp, without hesitation or interruption.

When all members had left across the horizon, only the bulky dark and sleek pale Tauren remained, still fixed in place upon their mats and almost side by side. Old Indigo raised his massive head, the broken horn coming up first as though he could only perceive his surroundings if that side of his head were lifted. For a moment, the hunter wandered if the druid had heard his words at all, though something inside said he did, and the information did not apply to Indigo's equal knowledge of the subject. Soon, both bulls rose. Blue and yellow caught each other in an unblinking twine, soon parted as the edge of the sun collided into the smooth edge of the far off mountain range. The dark Tauren was gone as shadow began to overtake the land. The pale leader took his own way, moving silently up the hill toward village. He stopped sharp at the top. In fact, it were a wander he did not topple backwards at the point he chose to halt. A sharp, shrill cry was sung as soon as twilight sunk in. The bull faced back toward the open, endless plains without even a soft subtle sigh. He didn't know quite when, but a very, very old Tauren elder with a long braided had took her presence by his side soon enough. She shook just standing, an effect of age that caused the plainstrider feathers embroidered into the earth toned gown to tremble. She had experience far beyond words, and her blind, closed eyes saw many things. Surely she did all she could have ever done? At the presence of the familiar woman, the hunter's shoulders dropped slightly, but part of his soul seemed to slip away in the process.

The old woman remained silent, knowing words would add more weight to the plenty heavy force pushing down on the man. Her shaky arms quickly grew weak with the small weight of the bundle she held, and with this spurred the new father into reaching out, finally taking what was his. His little girl.. His little girl with fur so pure of black that it competed well with the darkening sky. A girl with his bright, unique white located only at pointed bands across her snout. His little girl..that was born motherless into condemned shadow...

Line Notes

These are included for those of you who read too quickly, or if I did not make the writing clear enough with my lack of experience. I just want the stuff read between the lines to be known. A recap of the story if you will. You do not have to read them.

-The village this chapter takes place in is special because it is one of the few actual Tauren tribes left, rather then a settled spot. The Tauren migrate to hunt, but this village is a home base and meeting place. Therefore, older traditions are still followed and the people here are not used to the concept of cities where many people dwell and just travel through.

-The white hunter is so much different today because his only child is being born and he knows that either the child or the mother is going to die. He also has conflict with the black druid. (To be more accurate, the black druid is just a hair away from being the leader. That's a thought for all ya'll to chew on.)

-In a tribe like this, a leader would be expected to have at least one son. His only child turns out to be female, and pitch black at that! She is so much unlike her impressive, noble and respected father.

That about covers the little tidbits. I tried to make them pretty catchable. The rest can only be described with feeling, and if read, will be there. There is no need for me to go into those parts.

Author's Notes

This is my first fic. All content is based upon the game World of Warcraft and my experiences in roleplay. The content may or not be exactly as the original, and the names given will be based solely upon roleplay, not actual character names. (Though the obvious ones may be found in game if you play. All permission has been obtained from those who actually DO have the names given to go ahead and distribute that, but it was never my intentions to do. Names are soley for story sake.) Chapters WILL be upadted on a regular basis, and I WILL respond and keep in touch with my reviewers! D I would absolutely love to hear what you guys have to say. All comentary accepted, including flames. There will be detail revisions made as I feel a need. It wont change the story line, but it will make the reading easier/better and of a higher quality.

It starts out pretty serious and almost a little depressing, but things start to get more comical later on. How could things not with such a hard-headed Tauren who prances to the beat of a seporate war drum? You'll see. Read, think, and review!