Leatherbound history

Hot springs are magical, magical places. I did not understand why people went to Winterspring before yesterday- now I know that I was seeing only the "Winter" part of the name. I must have floated in a waking daze for hours, listening to the forest's busy sounds and inspecting the flakes of snow that fell outside the radius of heat. My whole body is better for it- I think I will visit that spot more often. Ebon's two visits were a nice surprise..it was good to speak to her without other ears to worry about. I am bad at speaking in crowds, even a handful and I feel like leather pulled across the head of a drum.

Taking the wyvren back to back to the Bluffs was...less than pleasing. Every strand of fur that had been wet, froze. By the time I got off I was desperate for a warm mug of stew and a flask of light wine mixed with juice. I did notice a few lodges nestled away in the swaying pines. In the interest of getting myself back in working order, I'm considering renting one close to the springs. Ebon said that she felt the Bluffs were less and less a home; maybe she would not oppose a short hiatus in the snow.

Whatever Sam did, it proves he was born to give a healer's touch. My unbroken right arm, the one with the most flesh wounds, feels much better than yesterday. I feel the strength coming back to it, starting in at the shoulder and moving downwards with slow conviction.
I wonder what had him so on edge? I've never heard another speak like that, especially in the absence of a mortal wound. Takchawee seemed on edge around him- maybe there is more to those two I don't see yet. Wouldn't be surprising, I've known T'wee over twice as long as Sam, and I think that puts T'wee at just under one week.

Speaking of which..what is this business of love she spouts? I have forgiven her, I see that she is lonely, but love us? It didn't sound like the kind of friendly words I've heard others say to comrades. How can she love us- hell, how can she say she loves me after not even knowing me for a day out of this medicine haze? I understand she finds me attractive, and I'll put up with her advances so long as she remains worth knowing, but...honestly. Maybe I just do not understand love yet. I don't think it was meant for me, and now I feel like a smithy who's lost his hammer and found himself stuck in a gnomish quilting house.. Furthermore, it seems she spends at least two thirds of the day on the spirit rise with us (Is this her tent or Ebon's? ) and I have to wonder if her calves go hungry. Does she intend to pinch off the family she's started for the unsteady path into ours? I welcome any worthy friend into our pack, but I feel she must untangle her webs first. Mayhaps I'll start that ball rolling when I lay eyes on this Runetotem. I often wonder if it is because I put physical pleasure below all else that I see clearly. To take a doe to bed for her first time, so crudely as to make her belly swell and then not whisper even one kind word?

I think I must help T'wee find a real love and a better home, and maybe a way to use her strength for more than blocking arrows and swords if I am ever to have Ebon alone again for more than half an hour..

The shaking is worse than the fractures and bruises and sprains. The shaking and the chattering, the twitching and the clattering, all night, most of the day. Especially the legs. Damn my legs. I had to use a staff to walk earlier, though with the pain as it was I'm not sure walking was a good idea. The tent held mead and company later, which helped. Ebon seemed desperate to get me to talk with Takchawee. I wont disobey her..but..it is very strange to be asked to be best of friends so soon after what happened. In fact, it seemed like she wanted the three of us to act as cubs in a pile. I do not dislike her- she is a lost soul, and much like Ebon in many ways, but, I am just not ready. [an ink smear]
Damn these muscles...this is not the fall. This is them. The healer said it would be harder than before, and gave me this weak dose in a flask to to help stave off the "side effects". I dont think I can tell Ebon. She wouldent understand this thing, I dont think. Would I only have chosen the ales as my saviour, I may not have been in such a mess. A tavern and a mug is preferable to the bloody trenches. The healer asked how I got the essence so fully out of the runes, how I used them. I never knew others just invoked them for mana. I crush them into shards first, and then take the right shard- it doesnt look different, but you know which it is. It wants you to know. You take it, and bury it in your blood. You can eat them too, but that's a different trip. It's more for..not being. Burying them is being, but moreso. And the nightmares... One minute you're a little human girl in westfall begging her father not to slaughter a horse, and the next you're in the memories of an ancient being, remembering wars long lost. And- [there is another smear]

Why do I wish for such horrible things?

I am a fool.


I had intended only a short stay, to grow a thick skin for the many cold, bitter nights I thought were my fate. "I know some tribes who mate with one and love another", yes, those were my words. I had assumed, when I saw them there, that Ebon had made the choice to love Takchawee, and come to me only when she desired to create calves. I was prepared, though unhappy. I planned to get a supply of my vice to last me, and then become a shadow. No assassin, no theif, no predator would ever make it alive to their door- for I would be the crow circling their paths, the skulking animal in the night that hunted their hunters.

I couldent help myself, I had to use the first few runes I found. And then the next few. I might have had a decent stash, but only one remained in my paws when I staggered off of the big circular pit. Between the awkward fall and my inability to fight off the demons that waited over the altar I had fallen on, I managed to break my left arm above the wrist and six ribs. I dont remember much after that, until what had to be hours later. I've not been able to quit the shaking in my limbs and the chattering of my teeth since then. I never meant any harm to her. I wasn't myself..

[The writing on this page is in cenarion, rather than orcish. The hand is twisting and spidery, as though it took a long time to write each letter but the hand holding the pen did so with claws extended. Now and again, earthy red brown spots stain the page, centering in on the middle of the page.]
My head hurts.

I see no reason to write in this stupid thing. I do not know why I do, but at least it is one thing I will hold on to. Maybe. At the very least, some elf is likely to find it and mark down my existence as a curious stain on the Tauren record.

Old habits do die hard. I got them in Azshara, and felwood as before. They remembered me [here in the page is an inkblot, as though some convulsed motions took place.] They remembered and ran. Their hooves are not as fast as mine. Small and round and black, heavier than they look, glowing sigil. [a small burn mark, from an ember or intense heat nearby]

Yes, my head hurts. But mayhaps I like it that way after all.

I...
[ there is a space left and a smudge, as though the journal was thrown or left out in the open for a while before the next part was written.]

I should not have left so long. I made myself wait to write this entry, dragons only know why I write here. This damn book does symbolize my faults. Bound in shiney leather, left to crack in the rain, oiled, but still neglected. Why should I be angry with Ebon for seeking love elsewhere? Had I been half the bull I should be, I should have at least been around to see her more than chance meetings. She had told me when we met for the second time that she has had many mates. I remember now that I am but one of a line. Haregirn, Ishnara, those are the only ones I remember but I would not be suprised if there were more. They didnt see me but I dropped my damndable pack like a scared calf. I should have seen this coming, hells maybe I did. Maybe that's why I still feel compelled to be as accomodating and..I dont even know the words. Father is laughing, somewhere. Father is laughing, and making jokes that his son be replaced by a woman. Damn me, why is this so hard to wrap my head around? Did Nightbane finally boil it with his breath?

Hells. I am angry...but I can not be angry at her. Gods and dragons damn me, I can never be angry with her.

[the journal is somewhat mangled after this, three shredded pages and a few more soaked with blackish blood and stained with an odd, bitter, magical smell.]

Tower.
Always with the big stone monuments, these creatures. At least the holes in this one are letting in fresh air, and not caustic fumes like the other places have.

It was a relief to escape back to Thunder Bluff. I only seem to go there with Ebon. Maybe it isnt home otherwise. I met Takchawee there as well. I had seen her about the towns before- another female warrior strong of hoof and bone. The three of us drank (it turns out, I still loathe bourbon. Ah well. Maybe I'll develop a taste of it yet.) and laughed, and finally fell into Ysera's waiting wings together. Before that last bit though, I carved. Havent done that much, I run low on stone and my poor knife is a shadow of its former self. It turned out a sea turtle for Takchawee, fast and smooth as it ever does. I dont think I will ever be able to replace it, the knife and I have been together so long. Each new carving puts more wear on it. I know I could save it by using hammer and wedge, or even by switching to the soapy stones of Azshara yet I cannot do those things. Maybe that is why I do not carve as I once did. For fear of losing a friend.

And then there is the matter of the letter. Boxes and a will, everything owned by Silvandar and Sildonas given up to Saide and myself. I have neer been so sad to see such bounty. Still.. there is no news of a death. Tomorrow I will seek my answers. For now I enjoy the company of my mate and our new friend in peace.

I find it disparaging that I cannot seem to keep in steady contact with an aqquaintance, a friend or even a lover. This book is perfect example- full of promises and nothing else. Maybe by trying to keep it on me, I will think of it more often. At the very least, it may make the time not pass so damndable quick. Always on the hoof, on the wing..that my wolf still greets me each morning is a testament to Frostwolf breeding. I remember when I tamed her. Each day, I would slink from the front lines of the battle and bring in wolves to stable. Each day bringing offering and sacrifice to the Frostwolf tribe. I remember when they finally presented me the option of keeping any wolf I found roaming their icy planes. The joyfull feeling of the little squirming pup, yapping and snarling at bugs and rabbits. I found time then. I must learn to find time once more.

I should go buy some wine..

I havent writted here in ages. This book may well be moldering. Ick. It's been a long road for sure, since then. The me I read about is diferent in many ways, his thoughts are more scattered than mine. So determined I was.

Enough of that, though. Today I write to put joy inbetween the rotting spine of this tome- for once again I am no longer alone. I should have known, I should have known all along I cant help but repeat to myself what a fool I was for doubting her. Today, I regained control of myself and through that a window to her. After so many months, it is ironic to think that the speaking stones found us so close.

Today I gave her all of myself that I could, and was repaid in kind. I do not know if I believe in the place after death I have heard the priests speak of, but if it is anything like today... I should like to have a word with their gods.

( click here for story goodness )

((this is now an in game event. If you see me, it's ooc and I'm grinding or raiding or something. If your character would be concerned somehow, try contacting Longstride, Davien or Griaz in character. Hopefully you all can find me and tame me before the bad stuff happens ;p ))

(( Listen to this while you read :) http://s42.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=24AIU9YSWY33R04CKG284QLI8I ))

The thirst burned.

Footsteps...coming..soft..a leather soled shoe..nothing to suggest any..preparation. Scent of garlic..and something else..wine perhaps. Ahka awoke and settled his limbs beneath him.

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He drunk deeply of the veins, and ate of the flesh while it pulsed warm, the last of the man/s blood trickling out and over a worn civillian's tunic and an old white shirt. His features had grown more angular, sillhoutted as he was against the wall of the shabby house near the dry fountain. The pool of red washed out into the grey grass, bright and deep red, a warning. Ahka let forth a sharp growl as he freed a bone from it's socket, and chewed.

A beast he looked now.. the gore of many dried into his pelt, his fur dryed in sharp ended and thorny clumps. He did not pause to hide the kill, nor did he lament the man's fate. His survival, for perhaps the first time in his life, was all that he cared about.

As he set down the road to Grom'Gol, a darting burgundy shadow, he let his mind wander. He realized he must have left all of his things in Ashenvale, his weapons, his kodo his tabard-

Ahka stopped.
His..tabard.

Memories of that day nearly one year ago began to come back to him, along with the first shred of emotion other than primal instincts and confusion he had felt since fleeing from himself that day..

In the half light of the forest, the death of the orc no longer seemed to matter..what did matter..was that he had been gone a year, and no one, from his parents in bloodhoof, to his guild, to the friends he had made in passing..had come to find him.

His eyes fell dim. And for the first time in a year..he spoke.

"I..am forgotten. I am lost and forsaken. I am the terror of all that is good, I have killed inside my own hold, they are as right to leave me to the ogre as my hide is wretched and foul..so this is what it means.."

He couldent finish the sentance. His fangs clenched together and he ran, as if to try to outrun his failures...his exile.
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The sun dawned green, as it had the day before, and the day before that. Ahka had bathed in the foul pools of water in some attpemt to regain something of himself. The blood washed out, but it left a stain. Now, and possibly forever more, his hide was no longer the golden sheen of a noble lion. No, it was forever marred, darkened and discolored by dirt and blood and the sting of the lash. Many long lines of fur on his back were darkest of all, for some enchantment or other the Ogre had on his whip had all but scorched them black. Only his eyes remained unchanged, bright green pools intersected by shards of darkest black. His gear, his possessions in their entirety were gone, taken by one of those same scouts he had spared no doubt.

He climbed again the slope up towards his new...hunting ground. Before long he found himself again in a wash of blood and pain and magic, breaking a satyr's horn with one swipe of his paw, feeding on it and pressing forward. Something in him needed their flesh, needed them to be lying dead in swaths, feeding the vile grounds of the place with their bodies. As the last satyr fell and the sun set in the same way it had risen, Ahka noticed a small pebble gripped in the hands of his victem.
Sniffing it, he took it in his mouth and climbed the boughs of the twisted tree down near the fetid pools.

Somehow he knew what it was, and how to use it..but it meant..Ahka gritted his teeth, and began to shift. He dropped down to the water, half walking, half running on all fours. His hooves felt clumsy, he hadnt used them in so long. Gripping the stone, he tapped into it in his mind and..pain. It burned in a way he had not yet known, yet in a way that was vastly familiar. He growled, a sound that came out sounding strange from his tauren lips, and then turned to look into the pool. A quick glance was all he could bear. He was himself..but he was not the same. He was thinner, leaner. That was all he cared to find out. He shifted back into the lion and began to climb the tree again, but then something caught his mind.
the stone..
He wanted another.
there were yet demons in Fellwood..

The days passed on. The flick of the whip, the buzzing flies and the sneering crowd his only company. The rotten meat went down like a pack of razors and kicked like a mule. His hide, once golden and pure, was now marred with stripes, died that deep red color from his own blood dragged out by the whips and drying there in shadow.

He knew now where he was for certain. Goldshire, it's white walled inn and thatched roof spread out with a ceratin charm that before he would have loved to paint, to render best he could. The people of this place were..people he had spoke for in the past. Long ago, when Koushi had been running against the alliance in Ashenvale and he had stayed in the barrens in protest. Now... He growled and dug his claws into the cage's hard floor, watching as a group of young humans and elves casually strode up to watch him write under the orge's whip.

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The Ogre lazed around the outside of the lion's cage. He'd never seen a horned lion before, not that he much cared what it was, it was bringing in a lot of people..and those people were buying lots of beer and food. Another group seemed to be coming up. The ogre sighed, lamenting possibly how hard he had it, or how hard his arms were going to ache after this day was done. All the same, they came and so he unhooked his long whip from his belt, wiping a dirty rag from his loincloth across it first to remove a little of the gore for a snack. He turned about in two lumbering steps to face the cage. The lion was staring at him with a feirceness he hadnt seen yet, it's green eyes blazing, pupils like daggers. One of the humans said something as he drew his whip back in a large coil to begin the show.

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The whip snaked forward. Ahka didnt care when it hit, he didnt make a sound other than the cracking of the bars as they ripped out of their foundation, and then the sloshing wet gurgle of the ogre as he clawrd it's throat out. He landed on mounds of fat as the hit the ground, not stopping for even a moment before pouncing upon the crowd, and the gaurds, and then finally the ringmaster.

The little gnome smelled of cigar smoke and money, and now fear. Covered in gore, Ahka pinned the gnome to the ground with two paws and roared inches away from his face, letting the blood that coated his body -both his and others- drip onto the terrified gnome's face. Ahka drew back, giving the gnome one more moment to contemplate whatever puny thing he had in his mind, and then lunged in to rend the life from him.


The blast from the gun knocked the movement out of him. The bullet didnt hurt so much as knock him sensless. The ringmaster wormed out of his coat and fled. The elven hunter reloaded his gun, a large nightsaber ran into veiw, ready to attack. Ahka shook off the rest of the pain ran. His legs pumped underneath him with everything he had, stealth was not an option. His sides ached as though a dwarf in plate was doing his best to crush his ribs, but by the time he reached Raven Hill he had lost them. Barely able to think for hunger and thirst, he staggered into the abandoned building where he had been one All Hallow's Eve so long ago, and fell asleep underneath some cobwebbed covered wreckage.

((I've decided to start back a little bit, and relate a story that I though of but never finished. Probably it will take two or three installments, but I'm going to try to get it out as fast as I can, therefor ensuring that I get around to writing it ;3))

"I'm sorry, Davien."

The orc's blade slipped through the back of the emblazoned tabard like light through a shaded alley, slow but steady and all but inevitable. Davien mouthed a scream. There could have been sound, Ahka didnt know. All was silence and heatbeats pounding in time with his claws as he fell forward into rage to attack the one he would have called brother.

The others were there too, their blades seeking the same foe, but not like he was. There was something there to hold them back. Not so for him.

Light. Noise. Blood rushing from the artery on Urrukath's neck, flowing out from the lion's mouth as his saber fangs and the dark red liquid choked the like out of the traitorus orc. The eye, bloodied white and sticking to the orc's chest, stared back at the druid. Family. That was the symbol of family. The orc had been..

Ahka barely paused to see that Davien had survived, the ever composed Bullhoof tending to her wounds with the very same spells Ahka would have used. The blood tasted like bitterness and wretched despair, adrenaline and sweat oversaturating it. He didnt know if they called for him. He wasnt the only one, but he had struck the killing blow. He had killed a brother. He was disgusted.

His paws were stained. He hadnt been able to bring himself to lick the blood off. His mouth rang with the foulness of it. Family. He had killed one from the very place that harbored him. He could have just held him there. The weight of the Tauren alone applied to the Orc's wrists should have been sufficient restraints. No.

Ahka spat, unable to retake his Tauren form for fear that the blood would be there as well.
His door was wide and barren.
Entering would be a crime.
"...I..was warned of this.."
Ahka spat again.
He needed more than a river to wash his hands of this, and yet he felt he would sully any river he touched. Slowly, the lion turned about and began to take the long way out of the drag and then orgrimmar. To moonglade. To the origin. More importantly, away.

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Lion had died in a flash. Not died, but gone- sacrificed himself in that wretched space so that Ahka and the others could live to escape. Ahka was the first in his line, the first druid, just as his sister was the first warrior. his sister could loose her sword forever and her children would still be able to weild a blade. Ahka had lost Lion. The spirit he carried within him that was to imbue the rest of his line with the ability to shapeshift forever more so long as they paid homage..was gone. Bear had told him, upon arrival at his home, that he should not try to take Lion's body while the great cat was away. Assured him he wouldent like it, that he would be unguided, clumsy, and feral. Why then..did he let it, no..why then did he choose to don the saber fangs and golden pelt of the lost spirit? Truth was.. he didnt know. He had been as a passenger in the past, only watching or suggesting paths to Lion. Lion had been in control so long as his paws touched the earth rather than the druid's glossy hooves.

Not now. Now the druid padded along clumsily down the road, still not used to the four legged gait. The barrens stretched out for miles, the red dust coating him, sticking to the profane substance drying on his muzzle. He had long since thrown the earring the other noxies used to contact him with. There was no merry chatter from the family, no sulking Yva playing sheep sap with Mel, no reports of the dark bowels of the world from Blight or anyone else. All was silent, save for the squaks of vultures and the dull soft taps of his footpaws on the dirt road.

Eventually the road gave way to trees, lumber camps and scouts of both horde and alliance filtering through the trees. Ahka slinked as best he could away from these, though he could have shredded them easily in better presence of mind. He wanted not to spill any more blood this day.

He fled far into the mountains, into the wilderness where a bipedal being was incapable of going. Days stretched into weeks, into months. He was not Ahka, he was not a druid, he wasnt even sentient in the way he was before. He had become the beast. Maybe, deep down, the slumbering mind of the druid wondered if anyone had noticed his absence, or if anyone cared. Maybe..but not likely. Life was the next meal, life was climbing the gray blue tree trunk to sleep in it's broad boughs, life was the chance meetings with the true hunting cats that prowled here- some territorial and others curious. Things were..as they should be.

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The pounding in his head was something he hadnt felt in a while. Growling, a sound like deep thunder rolling across the sky, escaped his maw. The ground was striped with light..or..shadow? His eyes focused on the bars of his cage. Cage? He was... the goblin and the human..her beast and her gun, the dart.. Ahka's eyes opened to his truth for the first time since he let himself dissapear into the wilderness. The darkmoon.. he had been captured. A sign was nailed to the outside of his trailer like enclosure, the walls metal strong enough to hold him, but just barely. A slightly rotten and dry slab of meat lolled over the side of a dish in the corner, next to a bowl of river water. The entire cage was no longer than a full grown tauren lying on the ground with his arms at his sides. A wet peice of something awfull flew through the bars and stuck in his mane. There was a small crowd of jeering elves and humans of all ages outside. The gnome in the tophat stood on a high stool shouting into a crude cup made of leather. Ahka franticly tried to scrape off the foul thing, and felt a sting in his flank. He roared in pain, the crowd cheered and more foulness was thrown at him. Chicken bones, frog legs..refuse and litter. The ogre grinned wickedly and flicked out the whip again. Ahka didnt have the room to dodge.