The Wayward Son

Yongguk: I don’t have a son?

Criminals: Then who just asked for warm milk and made us cut the crusts off his sandwich?

He didn’t remember actually following through, but when he ran off from Darnassus and landed in Krait’s Jetty it apparently was not too pretty. People, originally smuggled out of Darkshore, were hearing now that Teldrassil was falling.  The Banshee Queen was firebombing one of the few remaining World trees as they spoke.  The chaos this was causing was felt quickly in the small community, and the workers loyal to the cove were trying to calm everyone down.  

It didn’t help when the leader of the community came back with a passed out male night elf on the troll’s own busted up shoulder.  The screaming woman who followed, along with her infant and child, was obviously angry at the big troll as two of the Cove’s workers came forward and took the man from the raptor-tender.  The big blue troll turned to look down at the angrily screaming woman and kept his voice calm as he spoke.  She may have been hissing at him in Thalassian, but anger is a universal language.

“Ja have come ta safety if ah not knocked ‘em down? Ah know da answah.”  A shaman came up behind the woman, a dwarf and a bit less threatening than a giant troll.  "See dat dey be taken care of, find cots an put em up en mah an Xiao’s bunk ef dere no room. He an ah leave en da mornin’ fer da Vale House ta check on dem.“  

The shaman nodded and took the woman away to find her and her children food, and she said as much.  The Troll walked away to where the healers had set up shop, walking in and looking for his mate.  He pulled a druid aside, asking the worgen woman where the monk was working. She pointed him toward the corner where the pandaren was tending to the broken arm of a gnome child.  He would wait until the tiny girl was patched up, but took a seat nearby.  

When the pandaren looked up, he saw a grime covered troll, the side of his face and body covered in thankfully only the ash and soot with a bit of singed hair.  One tusk was cracked, but looked repairable.  There didn’t seem to be much wrong with him but he held the arm with the fractured shoulder and dislocated elbow close to his body.  

"Et healed too fast..  Tink ja gonna have ta rebreak et.”  

Xiao’s attention pulled away from the Gnome as he finished, looking over his mate. “… Vol!” He ran over to him, whimpering as he looked his arm over now. He gently ran his fingers along the joint and frowned. “What happened…?” He asked quietly, sending small pulses of Chi to dull the pain and get a feel for how bad the damage was.

Vol'raka sighed, the chi taking away the pain, but not looking forward to if Xiao had to rebreak his shoulder.  "Dat zombie cunt took out Teldrassil.  Zyn an’ Tal hurt bad, Othahs… Gonna have ta find more room somewhere.  Fer survivahs.“  His head dropped and he closed his eyes.  "Ja know dat human sayin’ bout et bein’ darkest before da dawn? Et gonna get a lot fuckin’ darkah."  

It was overwhelming and mind-numbing, the idea of what had just happened, and not only just to the youth that ran back and forth along the stilted docks and beaches of Kraits' Jetty seeing to whatever needed doing. There were more than a few times he thought violence would break out in the face of the chaos and fear, but he might’ve been almost as patient as Raka. Zhell kept his heart steady even if his head was spinning and actually managed to do some good with little to no prompting for once since Marcus had--

No. There was no time for that this day.

He'd forgotten his own plight in the face of this much larger state of emergency and perhaps it was what he needed...But it wasn't what he'd wanted. What kind of monster would want this? He'd been nervous of the Forsaken before, but he'd never been afraid of them. Was this just...What they were? He hoped against all hopes that there were some of her people who couldn't stand for this any more than he could.

No matter what they all felt, though, the messes and loss would continue until someone did something about it. Maybe, with things as they were, some of those someones would be them? 

The old hunter was completely dejected at this point.  Earlier there were some very colorful words of Zandali coming from his throat.  Ten years of careful breeding, selective buying and selling were just gone.  

Tygah was bred to be big, watchful and steady.  The four females he had chosen from auction and wild to add to that.  He’d spent most of his son’s and all of his daughter’s lives cultivating a line of raptors to rival those of the Gurubashi.  The Falcosaurs were to add new blood to his flock, make the younglings more hardy, and the eggs less susceptible to breaking.  He had just managed to get a clutch from them.  

“Gavraji, mon… all of dem?”

Jura, his neighbor, wandered close and sat next to the old man who held his head in his hands. He’d known Gavra a long time and knew his life’s work was gone.  “Ah warned ja.  Shoulda had a guard, not jus leave ja papa raptah to guard.”  Jura shook his head, staring at the broken gate, the footprints of troll, pandaren, elf, human, a dead thing and…  they could swear moose.  Though why the moose tracks led off to a spot of flattened earth that had been pounded into the ground was confusing.  Had they just been dancing or pawing at one spot?  “Ja know who et be mebe?”  

The old man shook his head, looking up at the carnage and at the single egg at his feet.  It was more precious than gold to him now.  All that was left of the ransacking.

“Dey say Only got a good look at One dem Highmountain’s dey be sayin’.  Da rest be too far away an got away ta da nort’.  Da headhuntahs not gonna go lookin fer em.  Got more important tings ta look out fer.”  He looked down at the egg, grey speckled and blue.  It was his family’s livelihood now.  

“Papa!”  The little girl ran headlong to her father, landing in his lap.  He was happy to see his youngest child until he heard the sound that broke his heart and his life.

*crunch*

When: A sunny afternoon of no account

What: Scouting the pens of Gavraji Redtusk

Where: Durotar, just outside of Sen’jin Ok, so I went under the guise of seeing my older brothers.  

I had heard my ‘mother’ was dying, and refused to see her.  That meant I did not go into Sen’jin nor onto the Isles themselves.  I met Venyabi and Jura out on the beach, nearby to Gavraji’s pens.  The older troll had always just left his son and daughter to tend to the raptors he had and they were still fairly young, maybe thirteen summers for the boy and about nine for the girl.  Even if I had children, I would not trust them at that age with my very livelihood.  

Under the guise of roasting my own recently butchered and skinned raptor in a pit on the beach, I watched out of the corner of my eye as the boy wandered off with another girl his age and the daughter dozed under a palm tree.  Boring work I knew, but sleeping on any job was just a bad idea.

As we sat down to our meal, Jura and Venya told me of their lives and I feigned interest.  Jura and his mate and baby were doing well, the child a toddler now.  Venya was still a wandering monk.  I made the appropriate noises and spoke back of my own life when prompted.  I tried to check out my quarry when they were distracted with a bit of our dinner.

We spoke late into the evening, giving me opportunity to observe the end of the day at the pens.  Neither of the children stayed, but a golden yellow male, about eight feet tall with brown stripes along his back seemed to be the leader and over night protector of the flock.  He is covered in scars and seems to be a bit on the burly side.  I’ve seen the look in his eye before and he is not going to be easy to tackle.  He let the smaller females eat the offered boar and plainstrider they seemed to use as feed and fodder.  There were four females, all orange with distinctive striping.  One with light red, another blue, a green, and a deeper blue.  There were hatchlings running wild and with the same tones as the older creatures.  I saw two falcosaurs, one black and red, one the white and grey.  They were off to the side, keeping to themselves in a separate part of the pen.  They were not hatchlings, but not yet old enough to be ridden, that was obvious.  These two were fresh from the Broken Isles.  It made sense that he had none of the spiked ones from Blade’s Edge.  They truly were harder to transport, a bit less able to gentle into obedience, and the meat was usually too stringy for most.  

Gavraji is at least sensible in his work and having suitable stock kept costs down.  He also made it easier on us, stupidly leaving saddles and harnesses in a small lean-to not far away.  We will be able to ride a few out if they are saddle broken.  Fifteen all told, Between the two Falcosaurs, the male, four females and eight hatchlings.  We will need crates for the hatchlings, and any eggs that are not hatched yet.  The fences are tall, but they would be easily pulled down or cut open.  A good and heavy sword would be able to take down the gate and the lock is no more than a sturdy rope it seems.  May need heavy cloth and rope to subdue the big male.  Hopefully the females will follow their eggs and hatchlings.  

(Coordinates are 58.15  71.31)