This is going to be a tribute to a good pal of mine. Names have not been changed, but I have full permission to use this person's character.
6 years before World of Warcraft
Mulgore, a land of relative peace for the local tauren, and a beautiful site for any visitors. This was also the site of some interesting flora, and Mokcie the gnome was here for that very reason. As she wandered the quiet grasslands, she noticed a tauren out hunting. She was very intrigued by these strange humanoid creatures, particularly their culture. Like the night elves, they have an affinity for nature, yet they support the orcs deforesting Ashenvale forest.
Regardless, the tauren she saw did not mind her presence, and resumed his hunting. Just a moment later though, he was being attacked by a particularly vicious wolf, so the gnome channeled her magic and slew the beast with a fireball. She went to aid the tauren, but his injuries appeared too grave for her to mend via her first aid skills.
"You need some real help," she said, greatly concerned about his condition, "I'll get someone to heal you."
"Don't fret," he responded, "I will be with the earthmother now. But please, take care of my son."
The dying tauren gestured towards a nearby tent, indicating it as his home, and Mokcie walked in and saw a small basket. In the basket was a small horned creature, but as Mokcie entered the hut, it seemed frightened at her intrusion. When she calmly approached the tiny creature, it came to accept her. She carried the child with her to a quiet gnomish building, a great distance from the alliance capital of Stormwind, and raised him as her own.
8 years after
As the young tauren began to grow up and become stronger, Mokcie realized that she was raising a tauren that she might have to fight one day. Rather than have them separated by the developing conflicts of the horde and alliance, she started teaching him in the ways of mixing potions. However, he took no interest in this path, and found a new destiny to follow.
It started when the then unnamed tauren was out gathering herbs for his next test, reluctant to do either.
"Why am I even doing this?" he complained to himself. "I don't want to be an alchemist, I want to do something that matters, just like those stories she tells me."
Despite being brought up as an alchemist, his adoptive mother told him stories of old war heroes like Anduin Lothar, a paladin of the light, Thrall, the one that freed the orcs and helped face the burining legion, and Malfurion Stormrage, the one that ultimately defeated Archimonde and ended the threat of the demons.
These legends of the past stood as his idols, and he wanted to be like them someday. He had not seen this as a genuine possibility, but in the forest, he came across a human being attacked by an angry kobold.
He had only heard of those strange rat-like creatures, but he had never seen one before, and they were just as described, ugly, short, and viscious.
He knew he had to help him, but he did not know how, so he just charged at the kobolt and delivered a punch to its back. This did prove somewhat effective, but he was soon being swung at by its pickaxe, and would have been killed if he got hit even once. And yet he kept evading the kobolt's attacks and punching at it. As the fight lengthened, he felt a great rush from fighting for another's protection, and he began to subdue the creature, and finally killed it.
As he gathered himself after his first fight, the priest that had been attacked earlier turned to his savior.
"I don't believe it," he said in shock and awe. "Saved by a child, but he looks like a tough one."
Turning to the tauren, he asked him, "how long have you been training for, young tauren?"
He responded, "What, that fight? I've never fought anything in my life."
"He has some great skill, but he doesn't know how to use it." he told himself.
"Well, thank you, and light be with you." he said, and walked off.
The tauren was home soon, but the confrontation he had earlier distracted him for a long time, until he had to tell Mokcie.
"Hey ma," he said to her.
"Yes son," she responded.
"I don't want to be an herbalist anymore, I want to be a fighter."
At these words, her fear from years earlier had resurfaced, and yet she knew this time would come.
"Son, you, don't have to be an herbalist. I only trained you as one so you would not endanger yourself."
"But ma, I will do fine, and then I can keep you safe from bad people."
"I, I-" unable to speak, she turned and planted her face in her hands.
"Just take care of yourself, and you'll be a great hero."
"Hero...", he whispered to himself.