#stonehoof

A letter arrives to the desk of Adrianal Novastorm, carried by a small earth elemental that waits around only long enough to deliver the letter before disappearing back into the earth. The print is surprisingly delicate and well-written.

To Dawnward Novastorm,

My name is Koramm Stonehoof, recently joined Emberward. During a recent meeting with the Greenseer, I expressed and interest in studying psychology, to further my ability to heal by not only healing the bodies of the injured, but helping those who may need healing of the mind, and of the spirit. She suggested that I speak to you on the matter, as you are the one most well versed in the subject within the Dawnmenders.

This missive is intended for two purposes, an introduction, though I believe we have already met informally, during the brief get-together at the lodge, and secondly, to make a request of you and your time. As I am to understand it, you have recently had a number of situations occur, and this has led to you and your partner bringing a young child into your lives. As much as I would care to learn from you, I understand that a young child can take much of a parent’s free time. Even so, if it would not impose too much, I would request some of your time, if you are willing to teach me.

In exchange, alongside whatever form of payment you care to request, I would be willing to offer my services as a babysitter, should you and your husband require a night off. I have been told that I am very good with children, and I do find that non-Tauren children can find me an odd and entertaining sight. If you have no need of such services, that is fine as well.

Thank you for your time, and whatever the reply, I appreciate the consideration of my request,

The woods surrounding the town of Magmire felt darker and more foreboding than Koramm would have liked. He had expected, of course, for there to be some sense of dread, that was why the Sunguard had been dispatched there, the tales of corrupted plants and animals that magic alone could not cure. The air held the stench of rot and foul magic that even the wind, when it deigned to make its presence, could not take away. It was more than that, however. The elements themselves seemed to be giving the area a wide berth, and that spelled danger.

The Tauren paused, looking to the area around him. Much further ahead, almost out of hearing range at this point, he could still make out the larger contingent of the Sunguard that was planning to clear Magmire of any hostile elements. Around him, though, spread out and mostly working on their own, he could see a few of the Elves that had signed on for the task of trying to gather plants to help make an antitoxin for whatever it was that was corrupting the forest and its inhabitants.

Koramm shifted his weight from foot to foot as he pulled out a set of tools from the satchel on his side. He was a shaman, and one with plenty of experience in herbalism. Finding and properly harvesting a few flowers and other plants for testing wouldn’t be too hard for him, although the conspicuous absence of the elements continued to unnerve him. It brought to mind far too many memories of their absence from his life when he had ignored their calls and stayed at home in Mulgore. If even they tried to avoid whatever was corrupting these forests, the Tauren questioned if it was wise to be going into them himself.

It did not matter, though, and Koramm made his way deeper into the woods. He could not find any corrupted plants on the outskirts of the forest, though a short walk into the more dense and crowded area of the woods gave him what he was looking for. It looked at first glance like bloodthistle, although the signature red petals of the plant were streaked with black and purple. With practiced care, the Tauren began to harvest the corrupted bloodthistle, taking precautions to avoid the sharp thorns along the stem of the plant. It would do no good to risk getting infected by the corruption due to being careless.

A loud bellowing rang out through the trees, coming from a great distance away and yet sounding far closer than Koramm would like. “Was that a bea….”

The Tauren’s words to himself came to a pause as he felt a prick on his finger. Looking down, he could see thorn still in his finger, the blood pooling slowly around the small wound. “Shit,” was all Koramm said before he pulled his thumb away from the plant. The Tauren’s head rushed as he sat down, and then crashed the rest of the way backwards as the world faded to black.

——

Compared to the dark forest in which he had passed out, the bright light of the Dawnmender’s Infirmary was nearly blinding to the Tauren. He moved to rise from the bed, but groaned as the blood rushed away, leaving him lightheaded once again. With a muttered curse, he let his head fall back against the pillow.

“Oh, good, you’re awake! That means the antitoxin is working as it should.”

Koramm glanced over to the red-haired elf that was smiling at him from nearby. “Ugh. What happened to me?”

“It looks like you managed to get some of the corruption from Magmire into your blood. Thankfully, a few of the others noticed you and managed to get you back here safely. We managed to get an antitoxin made, though we weren’t exactly sure what the proper dosage would be for a Tauren, so it was touch and go there for a while.”

Caeliri spoke again as Koramm made another move to get up. “I wouldn’t try to move quite yet. Your body’s still working the last of the corruption out of its system, so you’re still quite weak. Just try to rest and recover for a while. You should be out of here within a day or two, thankfully, since we got you back and treated rather quickly.”

Koramm sat at the desk of his room, the piece of furniture far too small for his size, but fully appropriate for the elves who would normally see it used. He was hunched, the fur near his hands dotted with ink as he wrote the final few lines on the last of the three pages set before him. As he set the pen back in its slot, he sat back in the chair, the light above providing more than enough illumination to read the words now that his head no longer cast them in shadow. The words on the paper are scrawled in surprisingly tight, well-written letters.

--

To the High Chieftain Baine Bloodhoof,

I know not who else to send this letter to, and so I have sent it to you. My family has long since passed, fallen in battle against the Legion in Hyjal, and from simple illness not long after that. I have no mate to leave behind, to make arrangements should I fall in battle, or succumb to illness as one of my parents did before me.

So to you, my Chieftain, I send this letter, and a copy of the will that I have drafted at the behest of the leadership of the Sunguard, in whose service I now work. The call of the elements led me to them in the wake of the Legion’s arrival on Azeroth, and so it is with them that I shall serve. And as odd and bewildering as I may find these elves at times, I shall serve them as I would serve you and our people, for it is the will of the elements.

Enclosed below is a copy of my will. Should you receive word of my death, and see that the few requests of my will have not been met, I would greatly appreciate it if you would try and grant a Tauren’s last request.

--

To whom it may concern,

I, Koramm Stomehoof, currently write this document while of sound mind and body, and under no duress. Unless otherwise indicated this document shall be taken as my final will and testament, to be read and carried out in the event of my death, whether of natural causes or otherwise.

I have no true worldly possessions to speak of. My current dwellings are lodgings that I am provided by the Sunguard, and as such will fare no worse with my departure. What little coin I have, I request be used to make the arrangements outlined at the end of the document. Should any coin remain, please see to it that it is put to use housing and taking care of any younglings that may be forced into terrible circumstances due to our battles against the Legion.

My herbs, reagents, and other alchemical supplies, I request be given to other alchemists among the Sunguard, so that they may be used in the protection of their people.

And, finally, I request that my body, my weapons, and my totems, should they be recoverable, be returned to my people in Mulgore. It is my greatest desire that I may be laid to rest amongst my own people, in my own homeland, and in the customs of my people. If my body is not recoverable, please see to it that my people get as much of me, or what can represent me, as possible, for I would hope my spirit to be at rest, so that I may walk with the Earth Mother when I am gone.

--

Describe your character’s perfect day

—

“Attempt 16 seems to be progressing nicely, although 14 and 15 are wilting,” Koramm muttered to himself, jotting down a series of notes in a small book that he held in his large hands. Within it, pages upon pages of columns listing experiment numbers, soil compositions, watering times, as well as locations.

With a sigh, the Tauren closed the book, tucking it back into a pouch. Sunlight shone down into the forest clearing in which the Tauren stood, surrounded by rows of herbs, both plated in the ground and within planters, mostly dead. Getting down on his hands and knees, Koramm began emptying the planters off to the side of the patch, leaving the still living herbs where they were. Eventually, all that remained were the few so far successful experiments.

“I’ll have to leave these for today, still need to make a trip to the greenhouses to buy some more fertilizer, and hopefully some seeds. The Foxflower seems to be adapting nicely to the local weather conditions, but the rest, not so much,” the Tauren mused to himself. “The Aethril was the one I expected to adapt the easiest, but it’s being the most fickle. Too delicate. Have to keep trying, though. If I can figure out how to get these growing properly out here in the Dawnspire, it would make ingredient gathering for our alchemists much easier.”

Turning to head once more through the forest path he had come here on, Koramm paused to toss more dirt on the still smouldering embers of his earlier fire. Still the elements of fire and air refused to respond to his calls, but he could not let it deter him. At the very least Emerite and Azulon still responded to him when he requested the aid of earth and water.

The long walk back to the Dawnspire from the forest clearing gave the tauren plenty of time to think about possible soil and nutrient mixtures for his next batch of experiments. Perhaps he should start looking into the amount of sunlight as well, though that would be a bit harder to manage without constant supervision. Perhaps it would be a good idea to bring his findings to the Sunguard proper, see if there were a way to get proper funding and assistance for the experiments, rather than running them by himself out of a random patch of uninhabited forest. He’d make a note of it, bring it up to the Greenseer.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Koramm made it back to the Dawnspire. The tauren found himself stopping as he walked through the market, a particular smell catching his nose. Seeing the store that the delightful scent was coming from, Koramm ducked inside, returning to the street a few moments later with a still steaming slice of meat pie in his hand, which he ate readily, the remainder of the pie within a box tucked securely under his arm. The pie would make for a delightful dinner.

Write about a conversation your character overheard and wished they hadn’t.

—

The morning’s light filtered through the small window of Koramm’s dwellings, creating a line across the wooden floor and the tauren’s face, rousing him from his sleep. With a groan, Koramm rolled over and rubbed at his eyes, slowly forcing himself to sit up and just breath for a few moments, trying to wake. With a large yawn, and a scratch at the back of his neck, the tauren got to his hooves, using the bed’s frame to help him up.

With two lethargic steps, the Tauren crossed the small room and reached down, taking a pair of light, soft clothes from the pile of folded fabric, and dressed. Satisfactorily covered for the public, Koramm grabbed a nearby towel and opened the door to his small room, entering a small, walled off hallway with a closed door on the other side, and the path to his right leading out into the morning sunlight.

From the grey walls on either side of each passenger, as well as below those that sat in the central row, ejected every manner of menacing blade, mace, gun and bladed staff. Each decorated in their own right, many by specific cultural quirks of their origin. Baldris took up his phoenix guarded longsword, looking over to Odenka to examine her weapons of choice. Gripping a slightly angled stone maul into her right hand, the Tauren's eyes opened with a glint of fury deep within, still suppressed by a relatively approachable exterior natural to her typically peaceful race. Her left hand dove into the straps of a rather large punch shield, at one point it might have bore the insignias of the Horde races, a scarlet, proud calling card of any aspiring champion. The colors have long since been worn, now taking on a metallic mesh of rust-brown with the occasional speck of white paint trying to sneak out in between.

She returned the glance, knowing the Blood Elf's rising anticipation and sharing it despite years of experience. This was it. This is where the bloodshed begins. She rose in the very front row on the right side of the ship, brows furrowing – this is where she wins! The down-sloped front of the ship ejected steam, depressurizing and being pushed out to the front with around 3 meters to maneuver. Its enormous steel plating encountered gunfire right away, but did not bulk an inch, its plates then extended to the sides with 4 on each, and the internal mechanics growled and fumed. A natural wall formed for the crew to exit in temporary safety, pushing and dividing cumbersome sand in the process. "Go go, disperse!" The leading Shaman called and the 30 ran out to make use of the new room created by a barrier. Odenka took a central position before the giant wall, slamming her shield into a specific central socket left on her side. Even now, her ears harangued with the drumbeat of a bullet rain chewing at the steel on the other side.

"Enchant!" she called, signaling her preparedness to a nearby mage. The Undead pressed both hands into the wall and it was detached from the rest of the ship's mechanical handling. It then began to glisten, a chorus of magic into which 4 of the designated priests joined, raising their hands towards the sky. Creating a temporary barrier of Light, they gave the mage time to convert the natural energy of the steel into mana by means of draining its existing enchantments. These were specifically designed to do nothing more than give additional mana when removed, aiding the spellcaster and destroying the material in the process to give soldiers view of the coming battlefield. The mana was redirected into Odenka's shield, creating a golden glowing barrier with a crimson tint, which the priests immediately began empowering.

For but a brief second, Odenka could see her comrades in the other platoons in the distant sides, their shields either preparing or already set and awaiting the co-joined move. Orash's first was to the left, and give or take 98 other ships stretching into the distance on her right. "Second platoon, advance!" the leading sergeant cried out and the packs sprung into action as others have done the same. Marching up the sandy beach, she immediately felt her hand ache as the machine gun fire increased in quantity. She saw the bullets strike and ripple, dropping lifelessly to the ground as the crimson bulwark attained endless repair from the priests behind. Her shield arm began to quiver – not due to fear, but the sheer amount of kinetic force distorting its hold. Most of the shieldbearers had this issue along the coast, even if most of them were designated for either great magical inclination or sheer physical force. Her forte was the latter.

Leading the way on her rise ahead, she made great care not to slip on the initial sandy slopes – it wouldn't seem like such a big deal if one mishap could kill her entire platoon. Squinting as the first rays of the Sun's light pierced smog and rising smoky sand, Odenka saw a fiery hellscape. The land was uneven, crawling with ironbound soldiers and their cries of anguish. The artillery had certainly done a number on them, and only halted now to avoid friendly fire. Through the disarray, desperate officers tried to coordinate the Kor'kron elite into formations at the coming vanguard. Their few nests were still working their best to keep the Third at bay, only serving to slow their advance to buy precious seconds for recuperating organization.

Her sergeant howled out, "This is it, prepare the scroll--!" his command was cut short however as the shield tore a heavy ripple with a glowing tracker line coming right through. Yelping, the great Tauren was stopped dead in his tracks, tipping backwards and falling over with a look of horror as the last reflex frozen upon his face. Odenka stopped with the disaster setting into the hearts of her comrades and yelled out as immediate as she could, "Armor piercing-- reinforce the shield!!" Kneeling, she steadied the defenses, allowing the priests to focus harder. Another tracer round sent harsh waves across its red sea, but this time withheld. Stonehoof's eyes widened, along with those of Baldris behind her, as they saw the sniper round stuck in the shield, dropping just millimeters short of piercing her head in the same fashion as their commanding officer.

An Orcish Shaman ran over to the dead and glanced to Odenka with grit teeth. "He's gone. I can resurrect him with some time, but we need to move now." The pack exchanged looks and Stonehoof grit her teeth, giving Baldris a brief glance. The kid was shivering and meeting her grim eyes gave little comfort for the road ahead. "...I will take command of this attack! Barrok, resume resurrecting him." The Shaman nodded and began singing and chanting to the spirits, attempting to retrieve the round and maintain his spirit within the living world. She lifted the barrier, bringing her frightening hammer close to the side in preparation and called out the new, old command. "All on me, activate the scroll of speed!" They were falling behind the other platoons because of the loss, leaving gaps in the line, making every second precious. Their mage rose a crumpled piece of paper, whispering a chant to him self, causing the runic letters to begin glowing. Odenka then glanced behind her to a nearby druid. "And scroll of the beast!" The latter nodded and rose a slightly neater looking paper scroll, chanting something and then roaring out a savage call of inspiration.

With both cantrips prepared, Odenka glared forth, opened her eyes wide and roared a hoarse instruction: "Bloodlust! Sons of war, CHARGE WITH ME!" And to a Shaman's searing song, the platoon saw red dead ahead. Their feet sprang forth, raising sand in their wake and were unperturbed in the rising adrenal rush. With the empowerments they'd received, the range of their charge was far greater than before and they'd managed  to catch up with the other parties in great haste, reforming the line without issue. Like a tidal wave of blood, they came over the hill to witness the iron shores on the other side, preparing to face them. Their lack of sleep had them on edge, causing heavy armor to be more of a detriment.

Odenka saw this ragtag up close with each step, time slowing down in the haze of their Shaman's menacing chant. She saw the frightened eyes of her enemy behind their spiked tin cans, she heard their heart beats increase, and felt their final breaths in her mind. Augmenting the grip of her rune emblazoned warhammer, she cried out. "Release the shield, we'll break their line!" And so it was, allowing the Tauren to finally lower the arm into a more proper, self-defensive guard. Now was the time... The throes of bloodlust consuming her mind, a battle trance slowly starting to take the hearts of her comrades, she let out a savage cry and slammed away a rising enemy spear, following suit with the rotating grim reaper's scythe of a mallet that collapsed the Kor'kron's helm -- and everything it hoped to protect.