Maulbane was lying down in the military base of Agmar's hammer. The guards treated him with suspicion as they didn't like freelancers or mercenaries, both of which they thought Maulbane was. He didn't care, he had important things to do... He willed away his melancholy for now. It wasn't the time for this, he had done the right thing after all...! Back onto the subject at hand. Anything to catch his attention. Luckily, he found it... The Taunka in Taunka'le had told him the closest place to find Deadnettle was growing... The Ruby Dragonshrine, or scattered across the Tundra, growing around a plant called Goldclover. He leaned up and sat on the hammock, legs hanging over the edge. He clasped his head in his hands, breathing into them heavily. As much as he was against going there for moral reasons, the ability to be able to say to people that he had picked flowers grown on Dragons was overpowering his better judgement. He pulled his armored leggings on, and began preparations to go to the place where Dragons die. Maybe the Northrend air was making him crazy, he didn't know. He screwed up his face as he packed, realising just how stupid this was. This wasn't like him... But then again, riding to Northrend on the whim of a Forsaken wasn't like him either. Touche. When he was fully armed and armored, five javelins, an axe and a spear on his back, his two guns on his belt and a harpoon held in one hand like a walking stick. He walked up to a Grunt, who watched him with distaste. "Tell me, Orc. Do you know where to find the Ruby Dragonshrine?" The Orc regarded him calmly for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "Y'mean the place under attack by the Scourge?"
Scourge? He shrugged, and prepared a little more. He could deal with Scourge. Maybe.
Now he was properly ready. He was going to try the same thing with the Cauldrons. Charge in, pick it, charge out. Hopefully they'll be too busy fighting to notice him... He went to their camp at noon. He said to them what he was doing and urged for them not to come with him, but their minds were set like the steel in his axe. Maulbane had a philosophy that people could do what they want as long as they could take the consequences that could come from it. The Elf and Human knew the consequences, and so he let them follow him, east, to the Dragonshrine. The team of five would have been something to behold for a normal person. Luckily there aren't many normal people traversing Dragonblight, so they were in the clear. Except for the Blue Dragonflight that could spot them at any moment, the Nerubian stragglers always lurking in a shadow or two. Thanks to skill and a dashing of luck, they managed to remain unnoticed enough to see a gigantic black shadow of a tree on the horizon, just peering over the edge of the cliffs surrounding it like a shy animal. A gigantic, wooden animal... But Maulbane didn't like the shapes swooping around the tree and above it. They moved in elegant patterns, moving with streamlined motions high into the air and diving down, looking like his javelins as they descended. And so, Maulbane saw his first Dragon.
Sadly, he couldn't dwell on the sight for too long. Soon he began to hear the sounds of battle, unmistakable. The roar of an Orc, something colliding against a shield. A Dragon, shouting to its comerades in draconic. It was so surreal... Dragons... A battleground, and here he was picking flowers. Maybe he -was- insane... Something to ponder later. But now he was watching the Horde push the Scourge back into the shrine. A wall of Taunka and Tauren made up the front lines, axes and spears holding back a swarm of Geists climbing on all fours up the ramp into the Dragonshrine. The Dragons in the air were burning whole lines of Geists as they too tried to push back the tide of Scourge. Maulbane didn't know what to do. Well, he knew something he could do. Blindly charge with the Horde as they pushed in. And charge he did... The Horde fended back the last wave of Geists, and with a yell from an apparent commander to push forward. The Horde let out a roar, like a single organism, and began to run down the ramp. Maulbane followed on his Kodo, Seleyn and Lethium hiding under a cloth draped over it.
The Ruby Dragonshrine was a sight to behold, but not for long. The Horde were cutting a swathe through the Scourge, like a slash of an axe they charged through the shrine. Maulbane followed as closely as he could, doing his part, throwing a javelin into an approaching Geist. As the Horde kept moving, he tried to keep up. Occasionaly he would leap off the Kodo, spotting a clump of yellow weed. Somewhere to his left a Dragon landed, the ground shaking violently for half a second. He felt the heat of flames from the same direction. As he gathered the stuff as quickly as he could, he mused to himself about the hilarity of this situation. He had a sack filled with the stuff in a minute, leapt onto his Kodo and charged through a new swarm of Geists to get to the Horde soldiers pushing through the waves of undead. Lethium and Seleyn rolled off the Kodo, looking for the plant themselves.
He was kneeling, grabbing some Goldclover, when everything slowed. He saw it coming, but the runeblade was faster than him, bursting out of the front of his body. If he could, he would have remarked the beauty of the spray of blood.. Then there was only pain for him. He rolled onto the ground, lying face-up, a hole in his side. He tried to breathe. The Death Knight raised the runeblade again, still dripping blood, and suddenly there was a flash of red. Before he slipped into unconsciousness he saw the Dragon's tail slam against the ground, crushing the Death Knight. He felt another kind of pain as Boar's teeth closed around his arm and began to drag. Then, everything was enveloped by blackness.
He hated the Scourge too.
Water. Water? He leaned up an inch, only to feel a burst of pain spinning around in his chest, as if it were swirling. He groaned, opened a single eye. Human? Elf? Lethium? He grit his teeth as another burst of white-hot pain began to assault where he assumed his wound was. Wound? Now everything was coming back. Dragons... Scourge... Death Knight. He fell back into his... Well, he didn't know what it was. But he sank back into it, trying not to move. The Orc moved closer, and Maulbane sighed quietly at what he thought was Lethium "Did we ge-..." He trailed off in mid-sentence, pain returning with backup. The Orc chuckled quietly "I wouldn't try to talk this soon, Tauren. Rest." Rest? He had a missio-... A flaring burst of pain gave his mind a nudge in the right direction. He needed rest. A lot of it.
And so he rested, without end, for six, seven days. At least, he thought it was. He was generously given food and drink for those days at Agmar's hammer, consisting of some thick, bland porridge and cold, cold water. The healers at the base told Maulbane the wound wasn't anything out of the ordinary, the necrotic magics from the runeblade didn't linger in his body. For this he was thankful, not being able to stand the thought of having that kind of stuff in him. When he was well enough he climbed carefully onto Gladestomp and arduously left the camp, on the road once more. He went straight back to the meeting point, hoping his companions were there. They were. Lethium was sitting there, looking very tired, Seleyn sharp and alert as he arrived. There was a large sack in-between the two. He let out a gasp of relief that the Goldclover, and indeed the Deadnettle, was safe. He wasted no time getting it all into a sealed crate with the help of his friends. A bit more weight was added to Gladestomp, who didn't take it happily. And so, the three set out once more, to the Tundra. He knew what he needed next, and it would take a while. The Felweed would be his in no time.
They had parted ways between Warsong Hold and Valiance Keep. He had told the two of them that it was up to them whether they would continue aiding him, but it would be dangerous. Very much so. Lethium and Seleyn didn't hesitate when they said they would find their own way to Shattrath and meet him there. After they turned towards the newly constructed keep, Maulbane rode off towards the Hold. He had a Zeppelin to Ratchet to board. As he boarded it he noted how the situation they were in was almost amusing - How even after he had seen the effects of the arcane first-hand, detesting it even more than before, they were now at the collective whims of the mages, as they needed a portal to get to Shattrath. Fate was a funny thing...
The Zeppelin touched down in the morning. Once again he was tossed out of bed by Goblins, resulting in flashbacks of his trip to Hammerfall. As soon as he stepped off of the transport his bad mood was swept away with the breeze, which he inhaled cheerily. He was back in The without wasting time he began his search. One of the first things he stumbled into was some kind of battle royale just outside the city. One thing lead to another and he managed to defeat two people in the "tournamount", before succumbing to his previous wounds. It was just something to pass the time, and he needed to keep fighting to keep his skills up. He didn't manage to find a mage capable of portals yet, though. It seemed all the mages these days were peddlers of tricks, not the kind he was looking for. While this was good, it was bad for him.
He spent the next two days in Ratchet, looking around for anyone able to create portals. His search was fruitless. Not even Wiley, who new everyone who came in and out of the Ratchet tavern, had seen any mages at all for the past week. Maulbane had no more business in Ratchet, the town was apparently devoid of magicians. And so he took a boat to Booty Bay. He was able to secure a good cabin, with enough space to keep his possessions and have room to move. He let Goretusk combat fatigue in the form of sleeping, the Boar having a snooze on a mottled-looking rug on the floor. Luckily the Goblins didn't mind the extra passenger.
Two, three days had passed. Nothing worthy of note happened, save for Maulbane eating, sleeping, drinking, what have you. The only thing he cared about was the Boat touching down at Booty Bay. Now this was a place he knew. He could smell the salt, the food in the air, the pure, concentrated pirate-y musk. Everything was foreign yet not foreign to him. He'd been here so many times, but it always managed to surprise him. And for this reason he and Goblins had a love-hate relationship. His hooves made merry "clickity-clack" sounds on the boards of one of the many docks. If he wasn't a Hunter he could have been a tap dancer. Heh. He let out a barking chuckle out loud, causing two Goblins to step back in surprise. He didn't care. It was funny. He traversed the criss-crossing pathways of the tightly populated city with a vague idea of where to go. If he remembered correctly, that is.
And, luckily, he did. The inn was rowdy, as always. Elves in every nook and cranny. One sitting on the platform above him, one staggering around drunkenly at the bar, another trying to pursuade the staggering one to stop drinking and one sitting on her own in a corner. Maulbane wasted no time in walking up to the innkeeper, one Nixxrax. "Hey, big guy! Damn, it's been, like... Weeks!" Maulbane chuckled, the Goblin really didn't forget a face. "Yes... I have a question for you, Nixxrax." The Goblin eyed the Elf for a second then looked a Maulbane, smiling and nodding "Sure thing. Lemme guess, y'need information?" The answer was a nod "Have... You seen any mages? In particular, ones... Good enough to create portals." Nixxrax pondered quietly, racking his memory as he turned around and poured a drink for an Orc as well as grabbing a few coins off the table. Now that's multitasking. He spun back over to Maulbane, shaking his head "Nup. No mages today. Sorry, big guy." Maulbane shrugged, he knew it wouldn't have been that easy. He slid a handful of silver coins to him and purchased a big room. As he walked up the stairs to the second level the Goblin proprieter called after him "You can bring the pig-thing with you, y'know. Just make sure it doesn't pee on anything!" Maulbane chuckled quietly, and nodded appreciatively. He never liked to keep Goretusk in a stable. As the Boar curled up in a corner, Maulbane fell asleep peacefully, absorbing the sounds of the tavern in his sleep...
The dream came without reason. Suddenly he was back in Mulgore, as a calf, sitting alongside the bank of what would become Stonebull lake. The sounds of celebration were coming from every direction behind the two, as it was the turn of winter. At this time of the year all the tribes residing in southern Mulgore, or at least most of them, would all go to the gigantic body of water to celebrate the coming of winter with food and drink, and copious amounts. A passer-by would see what looked like a sea of different kinds of tents, so many you couldn't count them. Well, Maulbane couldn't at that age., anyway. There was no name for the celebrations that went on then, at least not in common or orcish, but it would become known as the Feast of Winter Veil for the younger races. But for now, all of their minds were far from the future of things. Maulbane had snuck out of the celebrations for now, giggling with one of his childhood friends with their hooves dangling in the water. Although it was night, the moon was especially bright tonight.
Sarmuk, his friend since they were born, was with him, chuckling hoarsly at the jokes Maulbane would tell about their tribe leader. They had retreated from the noise of the fun and games nearby, taking respite in the cool, dark night. They could see the older hunters along the bank as well, probably Reminiscing. There were also the sounds of less innocent things going on around them. The two took no notice, though. Sarmuk, his voice amazingly low-pitched for such a young Tauren, spoke in between guffaws "D'you think we'll ever be as good at hunting as Urtok?" Urtok being the chieftan of the Fleetswoop tribe, and also the proud bearer of the combined respect of all the Tauren children in that tribe. Just pulling his Kodo-tooth dagger out inspired silence among the younglings. "I will, but not you. You can't even hit a Plainstrider!" Maulbane, not even hardly as modest as he was now, giggled at Sarmuk, who frowned "Hey! That was... It was just an accident!" Maulbane kept giggling, his voice keeping silence at bay.
They were so blissfully unaware of the Praire Wolf. It didn't wait for them to notice its prescence, and with a bark sharp enough to damage eardrums it leapt at Maulbane. Both Tauren and Wolf plunged into the frigid (It felt like that for him, anyway) waters of Stonebull. Maulbane could swim, but he was paralysed with fear. The Wolf wasn't merciful, continuing its assault on the vulnerable child. It snapped wildly at his neck, torso and face with frightening precision. At one point the Wolf burst up beside him, the two meeting eyes. As Maulbane tried to breathe underwater he stared at the Wolf, seeing everything inside and behind the yellowed orbs. The aggression, the hunger, but more than that. He saw the primal intelligence, the determination. As he was being killed by both the teeth of this animal, and the water beginning to fill his lungs, he would have given anything to be that Wolf.
It wasn't to be, though. Everything sped up as a third figure entered the water with a huge splash. Suddenly a gigantic, three-fingered fist plucked the Wolf out of the water, its head being ripped back. If the adult Tauren's grasp around the Wolf's body didn't kill it, the whiplash did. Shortly after he was dragged out of the water and summarily had his lungs pumped of the few splashes of water that got in. Sarmuk watched him with relief and as an Elder was called to the scene, bursting through the reeds quickly, Maulbane himself burst into consciousness. He groaned as he rubbed his neck. These beds were not made for Tauren.