WoW-based fiction part 3.
Yes, there's more. The story splits here; for some reason, I decided to make it a dual-narrative, also focusing on the brother mentioned in chapter one. (Refer back to the post "Worst Blog Evar" for that part of the story, by the way. Oh, and I didn't just make up the rune-based nonsense whole-cloth; a few years ago, they published a WoW D20 paper n' pencil RPG, and a certain acquaintance of mine picked it up and decided he wanted to run a game. I found some kind of Runemaster prestige class in one of the Magic And Accessories-type books, and kind of ran with the idea.)
--
That night transpired very differently for Beaux. The next thing he remembered after seeing his sister fall in front of him was a heavy cloak of blackness rolling off his eyes like a shade uncovering a window. It was still dark, dark enough that he wasn’t sure if his eyes had actually opened at first, but after a second he began to be able to see a little. Something had changed in his shoulder; the spear was no longer there, and although his mutilated joint was still agonizing, it somehow felt… distant, as if he might manage to go on despite the pain. A chill numbness crept around the edges of his body, as if it had all gone to sleep at once; he wondered if the tingly sensations were due to blood loss.
Beaux looked around cautiously, finding himself sitting upright against a wooden beam of some kind, an unknown lump pressing into his back. The area around him was something he couldn’t scarcely have imagined in a dream: a massive cleft cut out of an entire hillside, shored up by massive, curving wooden beams and covered all over by rickety scaffolding. Were the centaurs behind this, somehow? Beaux had never known them to do anything constructive whatsoever. Although the hillside had certainly been destroyed - he could practically hear the Earthmother crying out in pain - this was too methodical and too reinforced to be anything like centaur work.
As his vision cleared a little more, he noticed several strange, squat creatures milling about almost aimlessly, stabbing into the earth with digging tools or carting away mounds of dirt and strange stone objects. Though he had never actually seen one before, Beaux realized that the heavy-bearded creatures could only be dwarves. What they were doing in Mulgore was a question he had no answer to.
He shifted his position against the pole and discovered that the uncomfortable things poking into his back were in fact his own hands, tightly bound. He looked down, finding hefty ropes tying his hooves together as well. He cursed silently. Maybe the centaurs had caught him, after all… and after all the effort Misha and his mother had put into trying to save him, too…
The thought of whatever sacrifice they must have made for his sake flushed his mind with emotion, and without even meaning to he tensed up and thrust outward with his still-functional limbs, straining against his bonds. Unfortunately, the ropes seemed to be woven of quality material; all he got in return for his efforts were scrapes on his wrists and ankles.
One of the stumpy creatures milling around looked up and noticed that Beaux was awake, and immediately turned and shouted something in a language that sounded as if he was gargling with stones. Soon after, a dwarf wearing a floppy hat and a grizzled copper-colored beard waddled up to Beaux, making what Beaux supposed were calming gestures. The dwarf optimistically asked him a question in dwarfish; unfortunately, all Beaux understood of it was that it was a question.
“What? I don’t speak dwarf, you crazy thing,” he said, shaking his head.
The dwarf snorted, scratching his chin in thought. A moment later, something occurred to him, and he began enthusiastically pantomiming something that Beaux couldn’t quite figure out. It was as if the dwarf was pulling something out of somewhere, looking at it closely, and then spinning it around…
Beaux cocked his head, trying to puzzle out the charade. “You pulled something, then… spun it?”
The dwarf apparently understood a bit of Beaux’s speech. He shook his head, pointing at Beaux’s wounded shoulder. When he looked over, he noticed for the first time that his wound had been tightly bandaged and salved; that accounted for the dullness of the pain, he supposed. “Did you do this?” asked Beaux.
The dwarf nodded, smiling beatifically behind his beard. Beaux was surprised and honestly impressed - assuming he was telling the truth, this dwarf might well have saved his life.
“Well… thank you, then. I…” he trailed off, worry setting in as he realized what he was saying. The stories about dwarves didn’t paint them in an entirely negative light, but more than a few brave Tauren champions had fallen to their rifles and battle-hammers during the Great War. If that wasn’t enough, rumors spoke of their complete disregard for the sanctity of the Earthmother’s holy sites. Beaux wasn’t certain he was comfortable owing such a large debt to creatures that only thought in such base terms. “I may owe you my life,” he said uneasily.
The dwarf shrugged, dismissing Beaux’s statement with a magnanimous wave.
That was all well and good, but something still didn’t quite make sense to Beaux. “But… if you helped me, why am I tied up?”
With a guilty expression, the dwarf indicated Beaux and quickly mimed as if he was giving something away, then pulled a small stone tablet from his belt pouch and mimed receiving it in return.
The idea was preposterous; if they tried it with malice in their hearts, the Tauren would surely crush them. Even if they did so peacefully, they’d have a better chance of getting away unharmed if they didn’t try something so rash. Beaux had to be sure that he’d understood correctly. “You… plan to trade me, for those tablets?”
The dwarf nodded sheepishly, then spread his arms and waved his hands in mute frustration. Beaux supposed he meant to indicate that the situation was out of his control, but that didn’t make things any better for either of them.
“I don’t know how much of this you will understand, dwarf, but you seem to be a good sort. Thank you again for helping me, but my family was just attacked by centaurs and I can’t just sit around here to be a pawn in your scheme. If they’re hurt, they may need my help, and… and if they didn’t make it… I must know.” He swallowed air and fiercely willed away the lump that had grown in his throat at the thought.
A sad expression crept across the dwarf’s face as he decoded what Beaux had said, but after a moment he shook his head. He pointed across the excavation camp at a pair of burly dwarves, one armed with a large hammer and the other with an ornate staff, both busy looking officious and watchful, and then indicated the sum total of the miners. He pointed at Beaux and then punched a fist into his hand.
“I understand, I think. I’ll take my chances.” Beaux shook his head, tossing his mane back and ensuring that his horns, forward-curving and sharp, were visible. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I promise that no harm will come to anyone who doesn’t stand in my way.”
The dwarf looked concerned, but glanced around surreptitiously a moment later, checking to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied that he was unobserved, he quickly drew a small blade and sawed partly through the rope binding Beaux’s hooves. After the deed was done, he indicated himself and pointed to a tent across the camp, and then pointed to Beaux and shrugged. If Beaux were to escape when the dwarf had already returned to his post, what could he do?
Beaux nodded, experimentally pulling at the fraying rope with his hooves. “It seems I owe you yet another favor. Thank you for your kindness, dwarf.”
Grinning, the dwarf bowed his head in return. As an afterthought, he pointed to himself and slowly, clearly spoke his name. Unfortunately, “Angus” was all Beaux could understand of it, the rest being the unidentifiable growling mishmash of sounds that all dwarfish sounded like to him. Angus turned and walked back to the small tent he’d come from, leaving Beaux to his own devices.
He wasted no time in freeing himself. He thrust his feet apart powerfully, and this time the ropes binding his hooves burst apart. He was on his feet a second later. Though his hands were still tied, with his shoulder as bad as it was he didn’t even want to try untying them. Beaux surveyed the camp quickly and set off around the reinforced wall of the excavation site, trying to stay out of sight behind the scaffolding supports.
Of course, most Tauren are not built for stealth, and soon enough one of the miners noticed him and raised all manner of hue and cry. Beaux cursed and started running for the camp’s exit. He was faster than the dwarves were on their stumpy legs, but they clearly had a numerical advantage and his shoulder was still utterly non-functional. He didn’t suspect he’d have much chance in a straight-up fight.
He managed to dodge his way through four miners and one of the guards, but before Beaux could make his escape, a dwarf launched himself at his legs, bearing him to the ground. As he skidded through the dust, his shoulder exploded in pain; he had to catch his breath to stop from screaming like a wildcat. Seconds later, other dwarves joined in on the tackle, piling on top of Beaux like stones in an avalanche.
He had gotten so close. Trapped beneath a massive pile of dwarf-flesh, Beaux let out a great snarl of futile rage; it was either that or burst into tears. One of the dwarves on his back replied by smacking him in the back of the head, driving Beaux’s face into the dust… and into a curiously hard object. When he opened his eyes a second later, he realized he was staring at another stone tablet like the one that Angus was carrying around. He lifted his head a little, staring at an eerie rune in raised relief on the tablet, a pattern that had been punched into his forehead a half-second before. As this realization set in, what could only have been magic surged into Beaux, filling his muscles with energy to the bursting point. The pain receded from his shoulder, and he could feel tendons regenerating, bones straightening and new muscle fibers leaping across the gaps. A second later, the wound was closed.
With a triumphant roar, Beaux ripped the ropes holding his hands apart and slammed his fists into the ground, levering himself up and scattering dwarves like ninepins. He surged forward, bowling over the lone dwarf that still stood between him and freedom, and sprinted out into the rolling plains that had been his home his entire life. He almost wished that he’d run into a centaur while he felt like this, the strange magic sending hot, coruscating power humming through his veins…
At the thought, his mind suddenly caught up to his body, and the horrible memories of last night came back in force. Someday, he swore, he would find these centaurs that had attacked his family and end their lives as swiftly and brutally as they had shattered his. He ran forward, staring in despair at the greasy smoke rising over the ruined cluster of tents he had called home. Though Beaux couldn’t tell why, he somehow knew that it would be a long time before he would have anywhere to call his home again.
--
That night transpired very differently for Beaux. The next thing he remembered after seeing his sister fall in front of him was a heavy cloak of blackness rolling off his eyes like a shade uncovering a window. It was still dark, dark enough that he wasn’t sure if his eyes had actually opened at first, but after a second he began to be able to see a little. Something had changed in his shoulder; the spear was no longer there, and although his mutilated joint was still agonizing, it somehow felt… distant, as if he might manage to go on despite the pain. A chill numbness crept around the edges of his body, as if it had all gone to sleep at once; he wondered if the tingly sensations were due to blood loss.
Beaux looked around cautiously, finding himself sitting upright against a wooden beam of some kind, an unknown lump pressing into his back. The area around him was something he couldn’t scarcely have imagined in a dream: a massive cleft cut out of an entire hillside, shored up by massive, curving wooden beams and covered all over by rickety scaffolding. Were the centaurs behind this, somehow? Beaux had never known them to do anything constructive whatsoever. Although the hillside had certainly been destroyed - he could practically hear the Earthmother crying out in pain - this was too methodical and too reinforced to be anything like centaur work.
As his vision cleared a little more, he noticed several strange, squat creatures milling about almost aimlessly, stabbing into the earth with digging tools or carting away mounds of dirt and strange stone objects. Though he had never actually seen one before, Beaux realized that the heavy-bearded creatures could only be dwarves. What they were doing in Mulgore was a question he had no answer to.
He shifted his position against the pole and discovered that the uncomfortable things poking into his back were in fact his own hands, tightly bound. He looked down, finding hefty ropes tying his hooves together as well. He cursed silently. Maybe the centaurs had caught him, after all… and after all the effort Misha and his mother had put into trying to save him, too…
The thought of whatever sacrifice they must have made for his sake flushed his mind with emotion, and without even meaning to he tensed up and thrust outward with his still-functional limbs, straining against his bonds. Unfortunately, the ropes seemed to be woven of quality material; all he got in return for his efforts were scrapes on his wrists and ankles.
One of the stumpy creatures milling around looked up and noticed that Beaux was awake, and immediately turned and shouted something in a language that sounded as if he was gargling with stones. Soon after, a dwarf wearing a floppy hat and a grizzled copper-colored beard waddled up to Beaux, making what Beaux supposed were calming gestures. The dwarf optimistically asked him a question in dwarfish; unfortunately, all Beaux understood of it was that it was a question.
“What? I don’t speak dwarf, you crazy thing,” he said, shaking his head.
The dwarf snorted, scratching his chin in thought. A moment later, something occurred to him, and he began enthusiastically pantomiming something that Beaux couldn’t quite figure out. It was as if the dwarf was pulling something out of somewhere, looking at it closely, and then spinning it around…
Beaux cocked his head, trying to puzzle out the charade. “You pulled something, then… spun it?”
The dwarf apparently understood a bit of Beaux’s speech. He shook his head, pointing at Beaux’s wounded shoulder. When he looked over, he noticed for the first time that his wound had been tightly bandaged and salved; that accounted for the dullness of the pain, he supposed. “Did you do this?” asked Beaux.
The dwarf nodded, smiling beatifically behind his beard. Beaux was surprised and honestly impressed - assuming he was telling the truth, this dwarf might well have saved his life.
“Well… thank you, then. I…” he trailed off, worry setting in as he realized what he was saying. The stories about dwarves didn’t paint them in an entirely negative light, but more than a few brave Tauren champions had fallen to their rifles and battle-hammers during the Great War. If that wasn’t enough, rumors spoke of their complete disregard for the sanctity of the Earthmother’s holy sites. Beaux wasn’t certain he was comfortable owing such a large debt to creatures that only thought in such base terms. “I may owe you my life,” he said uneasily.
The dwarf shrugged, dismissing Beaux’s statement with a magnanimous wave.
That was all well and good, but something still didn’t quite make sense to Beaux. “But… if you helped me, why am I tied up?”
With a guilty expression, the dwarf indicated Beaux and quickly mimed as if he was giving something away, then pulled a small stone tablet from his belt pouch and mimed receiving it in return.
The idea was preposterous; if they tried it with malice in their hearts, the Tauren would surely crush them. Even if they did so peacefully, they’d have a better chance of getting away unharmed if they didn’t try something so rash. Beaux had to be sure that he’d understood correctly. “You… plan to trade me, for those tablets?”
The dwarf nodded sheepishly, then spread his arms and waved his hands in mute frustration. Beaux supposed he meant to indicate that the situation was out of his control, but that didn’t make things any better for either of them.
“I don’t know how much of this you will understand, dwarf, but you seem to be a good sort. Thank you again for helping me, but my family was just attacked by centaurs and I can’t just sit around here to be a pawn in your scheme. If they’re hurt, they may need my help, and… and if they didn’t make it… I must know.” He swallowed air and fiercely willed away the lump that had grown in his throat at the thought.
A sad expression crept across the dwarf’s face as he decoded what Beaux had said, but after a moment he shook his head. He pointed across the excavation camp at a pair of burly dwarves, one armed with a large hammer and the other with an ornate staff, both busy looking officious and watchful, and then indicated the sum total of the miners. He pointed at Beaux and then punched a fist into his hand.
“I understand, I think. I’ll take my chances.” Beaux shook his head, tossing his mane back and ensuring that his horns, forward-curving and sharp, were visible. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I promise that no harm will come to anyone who doesn’t stand in my way.”
The dwarf looked concerned, but glanced around surreptitiously a moment later, checking to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied that he was unobserved, he quickly drew a small blade and sawed partly through the rope binding Beaux’s hooves. After the deed was done, he indicated himself and pointed to a tent across the camp, and then pointed to Beaux and shrugged. If Beaux were to escape when the dwarf had already returned to his post, what could he do?
Beaux nodded, experimentally pulling at the fraying rope with his hooves. “It seems I owe you yet another favor. Thank you for your kindness, dwarf.”
Grinning, the dwarf bowed his head in return. As an afterthought, he pointed to himself and slowly, clearly spoke his name. Unfortunately, “Angus” was all Beaux could understand of it, the rest being the unidentifiable growling mishmash of sounds that all dwarfish sounded like to him. Angus turned and walked back to the small tent he’d come from, leaving Beaux to his own devices.
He wasted no time in freeing himself. He thrust his feet apart powerfully, and this time the ropes binding his hooves burst apart. He was on his feet a second later. Though his hands were still tied, with his shoulder as bad as it was he didn’t even want to try untying them. Beaux surveyed the camp quickly and set off around the reinforced wall of the excavation site, trying to stay out of sight behind the scaffolding supports.
Of course, most Tauren are not built for stealth, and soon enough one of the miners noticed him and raised all manner of hue and cry. Beaux cursed and started running for the camp’s exit. He was faster than the dwarves were on their stumpy legs, but they clearly had a numerical advantage and his shoulder was still utterly non-functional. He didn’t suspect he’d have much chance in a straight-up fight.
He managed to dodge his way through four miners and one of the guards, but before Beaux could make his escape, a dwarf launched himself at his legs, bearing him to the ground. As he skidded through the dust, his shoulder exploded in pain; he had to catch his breath to stop from screaming like a wildcat. Seconds later, other dwarves joined in on the tackle, piling on top of Beaux like stones in an avalanche.
He had gotten so close. Trapped beneath a massive pile of dwarf-flesh, Beaux let out a great snarl of futile rage; it was either that or burst into tears. One of the dwarves on his back replied by smacking him in the back of the head, driving Beaux’s face into the dust… and into a curiously hard object. When he opened his eyes a second later, he realized he was staring at another stone tablet like the one that Angus was carrying around. He lifted his head a little, staring at an eerie rune in raised relief on the tablet, a pattern that had been punched into his forehead a half-second before. As this realization set in, what could only have been magic surged into Beaux, filling his muscles with energy to the bursting point. The pain receded from his shoulder, and he could feel tendons regenerating, bones straightening and new muscle fibers leaping across the gaps. A second later, the wound was closed.
With a triumphant roar, Beaux ripped the ropes holding his hands apart and slammed his fists into the ground, levering himself up and scattering dwarves like ninepins. He surged forward, bowling over the lone dwarf that still stood between him and freedom, and sprinted out into the rolling plains that had been his home his entire life. He almost wished that he’d run into a centaur while he felt like this, the strange magic sending hot, coruscating power humming through his veins…
At the thought, his mind suddenly caught up to his body, and the horrible memories of last night came back in force. Someday, he swore, he would find these centaurs that had attacked his family and end their lives as swiftly and brutally as they had shattered his. He ran forward, staring in despair at the greasy smoke rising over the ruined cluster of tents he had called home. Though Beaux couldn’t tell why, he somehow knew that it would be a long time before he would have anywhere to call his home again.