You want to hear a tale, eh? It's fine mate, I'll give you one.
It all started quite a while ago... It was over half a century, in fact. Back then, a female tauren lived happily alongside her mate, both of them with a "oh so perfect" snowy fur. Their tribe prospered, and, as such, the taureness could dedicate herself to a less useful craft: sculpturing. Although she did not feed or dress anyone, she was so good at what she did that she became a prominent member of her tribe.
But, mate, while life's not a sea of roses, some people make it even less pink on their own accord. And that's what the taureness did.
As you probably know, Tauren tribes used to be mostly nomadic. Tribes rarely met, however, when they did, there was always some partying and whatnot to celebrate the fact, no matter how dull that may sound.
One day, the taureness' tribe met the brutal Grimtotem. Of course, the other tribe wasn't very glad, but traditions were traditions, and a mild, if not tense, social gathering was hosted as it had ever been.
During said gathering, the pure and exalted taureness caught a glimpse of what she believed to be Tauren perfection: tall, muscular, all pretty and fine... except that he was a Grimtotem, his fur unmistakably black. But love, or desire, was powerful enough to render her common sense defenceless.
The Grimtotem also saw something in her, whatever it was. Hence, that night they slipped away and... Well, mate, we don't need details for this, do we?
Moving on... Nobody ever got to know what happened during that night, at least, not right away. Fate has its twists and it decided to play one on the unsuspecting taureness. Her belly started to swell, and soon enough the Shaman knew she was pregnant. Obviously, people thought the baby was her mate's, the second to come from his blood – they already had an adorable small female calf, her pelt a mirror of her parents'.
The facade lasted for a good while, but lies never endure the passing of time. When the taureness finally gave birth, the calf was not pure white like it should be... instead, his cloak was pitching black.
Yes, that's right mate. That calf was me and this is my history. Don't leave yet, if you want to continue to listen to a tale. There's still some stuff that needs to be known.
Like I was saying, the taureness, my mother, gave birth to me, a black calf. At first, her mate felt confusion, and, afterwards, came rage, a burning outburst of emotions that made me cry the hell out of my lungs right away! Disgusted, not just by my mother's betrayal but also by part of my heritage, he ended his mateship with her and rejected me, and even my sister, as his kin.
I can't say I have had a happy calfhood – at least, it wasn't joyous in the way one would imagine. More than anything, it had its moments...
Throughout my first years, my innocence overcame the hateful glances and rude comments. I simply played with my sister, like all other Tauren calves. Tag, Hide and Seek... all those games that entertained us while honing our mental and physical skills, to ready us for life.
The other calves refused to play with me, so I grew very attached to her. Wherever she was, it was very common to find me as well. To this day, I still care a lot about her...
When I reached the age when my muscles started to stuff and my size to increase, my naivety remained mostly intact. Eventually, besides the old light-hearted competitions I had with my sister, I was finally accepted among the other Tauren to play one game... one in which I had to wrestle with other male youths.
Modesty aside, I was fairly good at it and won often. Slowly, I started to see grudges behind their small eyes, for they wanted to give the "half-Grimtotem scum" a beating and leave my moral reduced to pulp, but, instead, I always appeared jolly during the matches.
After that realization, I began paying more attention to what others said when close to me. It was not unusual to hear mutters of a "Night Fiend" and, in time, I found out they used that lovely term because I was considered a fiend, with pelt as black as the night, who had been conceived in a fiendish night...
I tried to ignore those comments, but it wasn't easy, mate, when the only person who truly liked me was my pure white sister, who everyone, including myself, pitied for having such a terrible brother... but yet everyone refused to treat her really well, and I grew to blame myself.
One day, while I and she were playing tag, a vicious lioness (for she didn't have a mane) jumped from within a set of bushes and tried to pounce at my sister, but I was quicker. I leapt, placing myself in front of her and sponged the blow. That did not hurt me too much, except for a scratch or two, but the filthy beast kept clawing me as I wrestled it, and soon blood was pouring freely from my snout.
I don't know how, but I managed to snap the lioness neck. Sure that the rampaging creature was now dead, I rose up, with my breath ragged and a victorious smile on my lips, and eyed my sister. Thankfully, she was alright, but she looked at me with her beautiful eyes completely wide, as if I, too, was a dangerous beast.
Late to the party, a group of hunters from our tribe came, and the gratitude I received for my heroic actions was a slap on my bloody face.
Fortunately, after the shock, my sister understood I was doing my best to protect her, and we became even closer. The scars I then bore, and still bear, on my snout disfigured me, but instead of making me the pride of my tribe, they were the mark of my brutality. It's amusing what hatred can do to one's deeds.
At last, I found someone else. He was already an adult when we met and I little more than a youth, but his warm amber eyes were more open than everyone else's, and his gray fur transmitted a sense of lack of bias, perfect neutrality...
The Tauren, Ruon, was one of the tribe's greatest hunters, and upon hearing nobody was willing to teach me the ancestral arts of survival, he decided it was time to intervene. He called me to his tent, and I got ready to hear some more rude sayings that I should just go and die in a hole.
What happened next, however, was far beyond my most optimistic expectations.
Ruon and I shared introductions, and then he scolded not me, but the tribe. He thought they were being short sighted and awfully cruel. I was shocked, but content all the same. My sight was clouded, due to my joyous tears, I suppose. When you are despised and find anyone who is eager to help you... Mate, it's the best feeling in the world.
To my delight, Ruon offered to be my mentor, and I promptly accepted. Between stumbling words and sobbing, I managed to promise him I'd give it all, and even more, to thank him for his kindness.
My life changed quite a bit. While the other Tauren were still reluctant to accept me, after I got a highly-respect member of the tribe as my mentor, the comments died down (though I was aware the hate was still there) and my sister was immediately taken under the wing of another taureness, who had been afraid of public repression, to teach her the same arts I was learning.
Knowing that my sister was now in good hands, I could focus on my current task: become a good hunter for the tribe.
Ruon proved to be both a good friend and a good teacher. With him I learned how to track down beasts, as well as how to land a killing blow without having to wrestle them. He also taught me how to skin beasts without damaging their meat, how to get the most of them (which organs are good, which are bad) and, most importantly, what their behaviour was. Indeed, it was with him that I learned the powerful motto "know your enemy".
As years drifted by lazily, without nothing new going on, I grew to become the great hunter I had promised to be, but, unfortunately, Ruon wasn't there to watch me complete my rites. A couple years before I did them, he had been trampled by his ridding Kodo, for no apparent reason. Ancestors have mercy of his soul. Since then, I began despising those mucky creatures, refusing to ride them unless there was no other choice.
However, finally came the time for change to appear once more. One fateful morning, my sister told me a couple of races, called Orcs and Trolls, had helped the Tauren, mostly of the Bloodhoof tribe, to drive the Centaur away and allow passage to the verdant hills of Mulgore.
More than wanting to go with my tribe to these flourishing lands, I wanted to meet those two races who had been strong and kind enough to help mine. A new chapter started for me, mate.
Sorrowfully, I told my sister I couldn't take our tribe anymore, and that I would leave to find out a new path for my life. Many tears were shed by us during that day, but it was with a smile that she bid me farewell. Now that I had her blessing, I didn't need anything else.
Since I refused to take a Kodo with me, the road to Orgrimmar was long and harsh, but when I arrived, my jaw dropped to the dusty red ground of Durotar. Sure, the city was still being built. Nevertheless it was already impressive, with its great walls and many buildings. Probably a human would find the architecture crude, but for a nomadic fellow like myself it was huge and wonderful.
There I made my first friends among the Orcs and Trolls. From my talks with them I got some odd speech patterns, mate, at least as far as Tauren standards go, but they were nice fellows, from harsh backgrounds and without the black and white sight my tribe had. Although they were kind, I did not want to live out of charity and managed to find my first job.
Caravans came and went between Orgrimmar and a recently built Goblin settlement (I had met a few of their race in Orgrimmar, small and ingenious creatures) called Ratchet, where they barely knew what Tauren were, but that was not a problem, for they liked us for our size and mighty combat expertise, as well as our calm and pragmatic behaviour outside the heat of battle. For those jobs, the only weapon I had was my old spear, a gift from Ruon himself, but I needed the money and I was certain of my abilities.
My overconfidence was shaken soon enough. Despite my high hopes, caravans proved to attract more attention than a single travelling bull, and renegades from all races I knew, even Tauren, plus the pink skinned humans, tried to raid us. While I and the rest of the guarding party always managed to drive them away, I scored wounds easily.
Thus came the great advice of a troll, scarred by years of battle, who fought with a gun. He told me guns were great mercenary tools, allowing you to shoot before being slashed to pieces. Under his guidance, I bought my first blunderbuss (in second hand, for coins weren't plentiful) and I was taught how to use it by him. Mate, it was love at first sight.
The blunderbuss didn't have as much of a range as the troll's gun, but it worked well enough and I was able to keep it in shape, as I had picked up the basics of engineering from occasional talks with the Goblin and some self-teaching. During battle, rarely did I have to raise my sabre, a gift from a caravan driver whose life I had saved once. I found sabres and swords in general to be so much better one handed weapons than axes or maces... while the sword slashed with ease and elegance, axes and maces were choppy and better used in two hands or with a shield.
Anyhow...Once I accumulated enough money to be able to afford being without working for a while, I decided to pay Mulgore a visit, to see how my brethren, and especially my sister, were doing.
When I ran from Ratchet to Mulgore, I could finally feel the difference of my speed and stamina as opposed to the years before. It felt great, mate, as did the sight of Mulgore. Green as promised, with plenty of water and beasts to slay, it was a long lost paradise, or a perhaps a quite big oasis.
I rapidly spotted the bluffs to the distance and knew, thanks to the power of gossip, that that was the new and mighty Tauren capital, Thunder Bluff.
If Orgrimmar amazed me, Thunder Bluff left me dumbstruck. It wasn't fortified like the orcish capital, but it didn't need to be, for one needed to ascend using lifts. I'm sure that, if I were an enemy, the guards would have knocked me down from the bluffs. However, even though I was expecting hateful glances... I didn't spot any. The guards looked at me and treated me as an equal, and I made sure to rush our introductions so I could pour joyous tears without anyone seeing.
In Thunderbluff, white Tauren, black Tauren, brown Tauren, gray Tauren... everyone lived in peace, without rude comments, without hate. That was the glory of the Horde – the glory of union.
My stay on Thunderbluff wasn't long, for two reasons. First, I didn't find my motive to stay, for my sister wasn't there. I tried to ask for her, but no matter how nice and kind, the other Tauren had no idea of whom she was and where she was. Second, I had to repay the Horde for their miracle somehow.
I raced back to Orgrimmar, where I bought my tool of trade – a new blunderbuss – to help the Horde. I joined in a few attacks against the Alliance, and while the payment wasn't impressive, the sense of fulfilment for helping those who had given me so much made up for all it.
Still, I permitted myself to be a little selfish towards the organization and, once in a while, take a job as a mercenary or two to get some extra coins. I always thought that was fair, for I wouldn't fight that well for the Horde if I wasn't well geared, fed and rested.
To this day, that's still pretty much what I do. I travel about, help the Horde, hoard some coins... and search for my sister. I'll tell you mate, I beg to the Earthmother that she is alright, and that I'll be able to find her.
