World of Warcraft
Characters
Rarant Thunderhorn – Great Grey Kodo
Taukalea Windhoof – Zeus the Ironhide Devilsaur – Great White Kodo
Tristani – Minion – Talbuk
Chapter One
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The day was sunny and bright but it was not overbearing. Least not for the youngsters crowding round a gently blazing fire with a faint scent of some herb wafting in the air. They were all gathered in the courtyard of a small yet sizeable hut. The youngsters looked eager and impatient. At the head of this little congregation, sat on an old stool engraved in a old design, was a large male who looked as if he had seen much in his years.
Indeed he had, for his face looked worn from many years of being on the road or perhaps from several fights. Now, he seemed to old for such things and the Tauren shaman seemed more at ease with telling tles of old to the new generations of most races. For there in the crowd were the bright faces of trolls, orcs, blood elves and of course other tauren. Even a few adults, which did include more than a few undead amongst them, were there for old Shaman's story time. The old Tauren, his fur greying and one of his horns, which were of the longhorn variant, was splintered at the tip.
He leaned forth slightly on a short yet well crafted stick suited for his large, three digit hands. He smiled, "So you have come to hear one of my stories, have you?" There was a chorus of eager words constituting to the same thing.
"The one I shall tell you about today is more or less true but it is a strange nonetheless," he began and then cleared his throat. He sought for his drink and frowned when he couldn't find it. A nearby undead mage seemed to know that old Gusthorn was after a drink and conjured some water for him. The shaman smiled kindly as the mage handed it over to the tauren, the size of the flagon sizeable for the bull's lips. "Thank you," Gusthorn said and the mage appeared to smile back in return. Though, it was mostly always difficult to tell with the Forsaken.
He drank deeply before he continued, "The tale I speak of contains three interesting individuals and perhaps a strange mix. A tauren druid, a tauren hunter and perhaps the strangest of all, a blood elf death knight. I am fortunate enough to have bumped into them in my past and am fortunate to pass on their tale to you."
"But why are they so special, Gus?" a young Orc cried out, her green-hued skin glittering slightly with the warm glow of the fire. He was often called Gus by the younger ones, Gusthorn was slightly too difficult a name and children could be forgiven for their lazy ways.
He seemed to take the interruption well, well used to the imaginations of a young mind, "You will see my child, you will see. My story starts in the west, in the midst between Camp Taurajo to the south and the Wailing Caverns to the north...."