Rise of the Taurenbane: The Story of Ptesan-Wi

It was a dark day when Ptesan-Wi was first brought into the world. At least, that is what Magatha Runetotem told her father as the little white Tauren hid behind her mother's skirts. She had little idea of what was going on...only that she had done something terribly wrong.

She could have lived a good life if her mother had not felt the need to proclaim who her father was. Driven mad with jealousy of her lover's mate, the cow had stepped forward and pushed the alabaster-toned calf into the spotlight of the elders. With a finger pointed at the bewildered young Ptesan, she admitted to her affair with Blackcloud and demanded that he accept his offspring and leave his mate for his mistress.

Hard to tell what the cow wanted out of all this. Position in the tribe? The victory of being the favored cow in the little triangle that had started four years prior? Either way, in her want for what was not hers, the cow now jeopardized everything she did have. Such accusations of the honored warrior brought dishonor to the tribe, and the claim that he, a Grimtotem of pure lines, had calved a misborn, well, it was unheard of. A finger was pointed back at the cow, and Ptesan could hear the words "liar" and "whore" sounding out in the longhouse. She buried her golden eyes in her mother's skirts, wanting to go back to their quiet home and hide from the accusing eyes that bore down upon her with such hate. What had she done? Her mind raced to remember what minor sin had cause this...taking that little bit of kodo pemmican, perhaps? Chasing the elder's chicken the week before? Whatever misdeed came into her mind, she could not have thought that her very existence had brought forth this ruckus.

When the yelling didn't stop, her hands went over her splayed ears in an attempt to drown the angry voices out. Fearful tears wetted her cheeks as she tried to make herself as small as possible, so maybe they would forget about her, but on the screams pursued, loud even over her attempt at muffling them. Her mother's shrieks, however, soon stopped after a wet thwak resounded in the longhouse, and the calf could feel the trickle of something warm patter against the skin of her right shoulder. Eyes opened and looked up as her mother took a staggering step backwards, and fell onto her, clutching her throat as she gasped wide eyed at Darkcloud, who still held the axe he had used to silence his accuser. Ptesan-Wi saw the crimson drip from the blade, and couldn't make a sound as fear and confusion overcame her. Withing slightly under her mother's weight as it pinned her to the floor, Ptesan cowered as Magatha moved over her with a hateful sneer.

The words flew again...what to do with the misborn? Noone wanted the daughter of a whore...The very presence of her dishonored the tribe. The hag reached a gnarled hand out and pulled her out from her mother's dead weight by her mane before throwing her back to the floor at the elder's feet. A white Grimtotem? Unheard of! The words "bad omen" hissed from Magatha's lips, and all agreed that she needed to be disposed of. The tribe would not hear of this...the scandal would remain hushed from all but the elders. Ptesan looked up with wide eyes as they decided her fate, allowing only the slightest whimper to escape from her throat. That seemed to get someone's attention, and the sound of a long bow whipping down at her filled her ears before the sting of the lash hit home.

As if to ease their hatred, others joined in. Afraid to make the slightest sound, the misborn closed her eyes, curled up on the floor, and let them beat her until the fur of her back was stained red and the horrid pain eased into a numb detachment from her battered form. Golden eyes now dull and lifeless, they stared at a knot in the wooden floor until it all went black.

The rocking motion of the kodo woke her gently, but as her eyes fluttered open the pain from her wounds made them shut tightly once more. Still, she didn't make a sound...she was too scared, was hurting too bad to try. She was tied and being carried across the back of the mount as if she were a courser being brought back to camp to skin and butcher. As was her mother; bound beside her, her gaping throat facing the calf. Not a whimper, but nose reached desprately until she was able to give a soft nuzzle to her mother's chin, the calf too young to understand that there was no way to awaken her mother now. Like black ink as it spills across a white sheet of paper, however, the dark realization that she would receive no aid from the cow settled in as Ptesan looked into her half-lidded eyes and saw no sign of recognition. A few moments were allowed for this to sink in before the feel of a hand shoving her cast her from the back of the mount and onto the hard ground.

A wince from the sharp stab in her chest as the wind was knocked from her, and Ptesan curled up with a soft cry as her mother landed heavily beside her. The acrid scent of charred wood was clue to their position in Stonetalon...the flapping of wings in the distance only confirmed it. The thumping of the kodo's movements grew ever quieter as the elders left her for dead, not a one looking back to the white calf. She was young, weak and bleeding. She would die soon, or the harpies and wolves would smell the carrion that was her mother and finish her shortly anyway.

The pain hitting her fully now, Ptesan-Wi sniffled softly to herself as she pulled her hands from the bindings; they had loosened with the fall to the ground. A few weak toddles to her mother's side before collapsing, and the little calf buried herself against her cold form. It was all over...maybe her mother would wake up now, and take her home. Nurse her wounds as she had her skinned knees....maybe. But as the light of dusk began to fade, hope did as well. And like the light, it soon vanished into a dark, starless night.

A questioning howl from the entrance of the vale...followed by another, and another. The eerie voices of the hunters of this region calling to each other as they searched for game. The bell like tones rising and falling against the mountains around them....coming closer...ever closer...

She didn't bother looking up towards those howls as they resounded all around her. The way this was going, she knew it couldn't be good. Closer the calf huddled against her mother's lifeless body, her ears folded back as she raised her head to look out into the darkness as it grew eerily quiet. The snap of a twig here and there was clue that she was not alone in the Vale, and every so often, her eyes could catch the dark shadow of a lurking figure as it approached only for a moment before fading back into the safety of the night. The wolves could smell blood and the distinct tinge of fear...but fear of what? The glowing eyes seemed to float in the void of night, glancing every so often to a pair of golden orbs that seemed to burn in the darkness. The heavy fall of paws sounded out in the silence, and those eyes were the ones to inch ever closer to the calf.

Splyttfang was not from this region. Where she had come from exactly, no one knew for sure. What one could tell, however, was that she was a worg; her fur black as the night surrounding her, bottom fangs taking the form of long sabers that protruded from her muzzle, and size that almost dwarfed the gaunt, tawny pack that gathered around her, staring at the oddity before them. Long before, she had challenged the Alpha of the pack and made it her own, taking a handsome tan wolf as her mate about two years prior. She was the Alphess of the Stonetalon pack, and the pairs of eyes turned to her as she approached the quaking young Tauren. Every paw fall thought out in full, she edged closer, her ears perking smartly as she made sure that Ptesan was indeed alone.

Odd, she thought to herself, that a Tauren would deem it appropriate to abandon their pup and mate in this state. The white calf looked on with wide eyes as she was inspected, then cowered against her mother's corpse once again, exposing the lashes on her back, now caked with mud and dried blood. A snort of disgust was expelled from the femme. This was completely unacceptable! Pity overcame the Alphess and the famed maternal instinct of the lupine revealed itself in full as a soft churring noise rumbled from her throat. One would not have to understand Lupine to know what it meant; that there was nothing to fear from this huge worg and her followers. At the curious sound, Ptesan looked back up to the femme, who now splayed her ears appealingly for the calf, her warm muzzle nudging and working its way under her arm to help her to her feet.

Following their Alphess's example, the others in the pack gathered, offering the calf kind licks to her hands and showing that they meant her no harm. Splytt's mate, a gaunt male named Alder, made his way to Ptesan's other side as his mate had the calf lean against her, slowly guiding her further into the mountains and away from the dangers of the Charred Vale. Splytt's Beta, (her second in command), picked up a stone and placed it at the head of the dead Tauren, growling a soft prayer before leaving Ptesan-Wi's mother's corpse to the scavengers.

Being so young proved to be an advantage when being tossed into such a different life than the one she had known before. The wuffs and growls expressed by the pack were quickly deciphered by the young Tauren, who parroted them back to her new caretakers until she was quite fluent. Splyttfang showed great pride in her adoptive daughter's quick mind, and eagerly taught her the ways of the packs, from their beliefs to their rituals.

She learned of the Earthmother, for the ferals were quite familiar with the God of the Taurens, but also learned of the Black Wolf, the Lupine spirit of death. The calf learned that death, though at times unjust, was a large part of life. In a society where hunters were exhaulted as the life of the pack, the lessons of when and where it was appropriate to take life were instilled upon the young right from the start. One lesson stuck firmly in her head: that one should never strike down a mother with pups, unless their own life was at stake. A picture of her own people began to build in her mind, and it was not a favorable one.

Ptesan excelled at tracking game, and in later years, hunting the beasts that the pack stalked. With a crude dagger that Alder had stolen from a traveler as he slept, the young Tauren was soon participating in almost every hunt. It seemed that she had taken to the feral life quite well, and her eerily accurate sounding howls could be heard singing out amidst the voices of her canine family. Except for her looks, all traces of her past were seemingly gone; even the welts on her back had healed and the long scars were mostly hidden by her smooth white pelt. With great pride, she was granted the title of huntress around her sixth birthday. Though for a Tauren she was still young, by wolf time she was quite old enough to take such a place of honor, and she held it with a solemn dignity far beyond her years.

However, like so many things, this happy life could not last. Around the time of Ptesan's ninth year, the Venture company started in on the forests of Stonetalon. At first, the wolves held their own and avoided them the best they could. But as the trees were cleared and the ground mined, the game that used to be rich in the area began to dwindle as the herds moved on towards Ashenvale. It had been hard enough to sustain a large pack with the pridewings and harpies to contend with, but now it was nearing impossible. That winter was a harsh one and many went hungry, and spring awoke to a significantly smaller pack. With a heavy heart, Splyttfang decided to move the pack after the herds that had headed to the south and leave their homeland behind.

The Alphess was faced with another hard realization; Ptesan-Wi was growing up, and there were many things that she would have to learn to survive in this world. Things that she could never hope to teach her. So it was decided...as they passed though Desolace, they would stop at the small fishing village of Shadowprey long enough for Splyttfang to contact an old hunter who resided on the outskirts. She had saved him a long time before, when he had underestimated a wounded kodo and was nearly mowed down. Now she would come and claim a favor owed.

The elders of the pack were quiet about this as they migrated to the coastline, forcing wolfen smiles to the young Tauren with heavy hearts when she looked their way. Splytt had expressed that she would be the one to tell her of their plans, and no other. They had made it almost to the village itself before the Alphess was able to muster the strength to tell her adoptive daughter that she was to be left behind once again. Ptesan listened on until what was being told to her sunk in, and threw herself at Splytt, begging her not to leave her behind. As hard as it was, the Alphess was firm, and Ptesan, now instilled with the firm discipline that came with pack life, could only whimper softly to herself. With ears splayed and tail tucked, she followed her Alphess to a small dwelling on the edge of town. The rest of the pack stayed behind; wary of the Trolls and preferring to wait in the wilds for their leader to return.

Jimiaja rarely forgot a face. This was true of Splytt as well, and as she came into view as he repaired a net, he was overcome with surprise...it had been long ago when she had saved him, far past the life span of a normal wolfess! He did not linger on it for too long as he noticed the young female Tauren following the Alphess, and as the worg looked back to Ptesan and then to the troll once more, an understanding came over him. Pushing the greying braid over his shoulder, Jimiaja gave a solemn nod to the Alphess; he would take this lost Tauren in as his own, in exchange for the life he owed the mysterious worg. After a lingering goodbye between the adoptive mother and daughter, Splyttfang turned and didn't look back as she led the wolves of Stonetalon away from the place, well aware she may never see Ptesan-Wi again.

The aging Troll had never had children, for he had been left a widower many years before and had never taken another mate. And, as any new parent, he was completely at a loss. The first few weeks were the hardest, for Ptesan had not used her native tongue in quite a long time, and to a Troll who could only speak orcish as well as his native tongue, the wuffs and snarls thrown his way were barely understandable. As a hunter, however, he knew patience all too well, and with a gentle voice and his kindly way, the young Tauren soon came around. By the time spring had once again come upon them, Tes'an, as Jimiaja called her, had left behind her feral ways, for the most part. She had come to love the old Troll, and did not hesitate to call him father. The Troll returned this love, and was very protective of his growing daughter. A loner by nature, he rarely went into town except when they were out of the essentials, and Tes'an, who never got the hang of being around other humanoids, tended to avoid it all together, with the rare exception of running an errand.

The two were all the company they needed, and by firelight he taught her Orcish, and, though it took much effort and gold to buy a book for such a reason, he managed to teach her Taurahe. This she picked up fairly quickly, since wisps of her memory still held the tongue. Jimiaja also taught her the path of the hunter, which was a natural choice considering her time with the packs. Though it took some practice and a lot of restraint not to attack her targets with little more than a dagger, Tes'an soon got the hang of the new method and happily helped her father collect materials for his leather working. He had chosen the Tribal path as his father had before him, and the old troll beamed with pride when Tes'an swore to carry on his work as well.

As the Tauren got older, so did her father, and soon, he found himself needing more help than she was able to give. For the first time in many years, he left Desolace and headed to the region of Durotar, intent on buying a slave to help he and his daughter on the hunt. Though she resisted, the old troll was able to drag Tes'an along, though she had little desire to leave their home. With a quiet smile, he only listened as she complained of the wyvern ride, the red dust that was getting into her muzzle, the heat...but when she went silent he paused and turned to see what was the matter.

She had fallen a few steps behind and stopped in her tracks, her gaze falling upon a young Troll as he labored at his task. He was about a year older than her, seventeen, with crimson hair that was tied back in a braid, his bangs falling over his eyes with each step. His tusks were curved and gleaming though the rest of him had a nice layer of the red dirt covering him. Tesan's ears flicked up with interest before she continued walking...right into her father with an *oomph*. A soft chuckle rolled from Jimiaja as he regarded her meek look...she was indeed growing up. The enslaved Troll, apparently, had taken notice of the white Tauren as well, and gazed her way until his master berated him for neglecting the firewood he was supposed to be chopping. When Tes'an's ears splayed sadly at that, her father nodded silently to himself and sighed.

Forty pieces of gold and a wyvern flight later, Numal followed the kindly troll and his grinning Tauren daughter into their small dwelling.

Numal had had a bit of a gambling problem; it had started back on the Shimmering Flats and had ended with him being sold to the Orc he had been working for in Durotar. For two years he had toiled in the sun until the day Tes'an and her father had come and taken him for themselves. Though it wasn't a free life, it was an enormous step up, for Jimiaja was very forgiving of any mistakes the young Troll made...though he was very careful to keep an eye on him when he was alone with Tes'an. Rarely were the two left alone, though Tes'an was not sure why. She knew of much hardship, but from the ways of young Troll males she had been carefully sheltered by her protective father.

Jimiaja was very sure to teach Tes'an the proper way of owning a slave, and the young Tauren soon became a quite adept mistress to Numal. The two hunted together very often, leaving her father home to practice his leather working in comfort. Such it was for a good couple of years, the three of them becoming very close, and, for Tes'an and Numal, this closeness became much more. The more old Jimiaja saw of this, the more he was pleased with it, and soon, he began thinking of arranging the two to become mates. They were certainly of proper age; Tes'an now a bit over twenty and the young slave nearing his twenty-first. year. The old hunter also liked the comfort of knowing that his beloved daughter would be taken care of when his time was to come.

What he didn't know, however, was that his time was already upon him.

The small group of black Tauren wound their way across the wasteland of Desolace, looking a bit battered and hinting of a foul mood. A week of raiding, and they had come up with nothing that had merited the journey to this land. They were close to the village of Shadow prey, and, had they been a more formidable party, it would have made an ideal target. Small fishing villages usually had a nice lump of gold somewhere for the taking, and, if anything, it was a way to replenish their dwindling supplies. Alas, they did not have the numbers for such a raid. There had to be another option.

The scent of smoke and meat cooking drew the eyes of the raid leader away from the town and a little to the south. Tucked away against the cliff, one could just make out the outline of a dwelling in the night, the doorway illuminated by the firelight coming from the hearth inside. The large bull lifted up his hand and those who followed stilled and fell silent. A glance to his party, the Tauren perked his ears to listen to the sounds emitting from the doorway, then quietly dismounted his kodo.

Tes'an huffed indignantly to her father, axe resting over her shoulder casually as she reguarded the old Troll.

"But Fathah..." she sighed, grabbing an apple from a basket on the table and taking a bite of it, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing and continuing on. Jimiaja would have smacked her one for talking with her mouth full. "Ju need meh here, ah canna leave yas alone in dis place! Who be doin' the huntin' fo' ju den, eh? Ju be gettin' ah lil sehnile to be tellin' me to go now." The old Troll chuckled and shook his head, his long tusks glinting in the fire.

"Donna worreh abou' yah ol' fathah. Ju need ta get ta da Bluffs, an' learn 'ow to do da huntin' right. Ah canna be teachen you de spells dey can, ja know." A grizzled grin from the hunter as he sat back in his hammok with a sigh. "Yah ol' daddy will make it fin' witout ya, belif it or not, ah am still able ta hol' up a bow. Besides, ju be ah smaht gahl, ju will beh back befo' ju know it." Tes'an groaned and splayed her ears at him sadly.

"Bu' Fathah...Ju know 'ow much ah be hatin' dem win'ridahs..." Jimiaja interrupted her with a raised hand.

"Eh eh eh! No but's dis time, gahl. Ju been talkin' me outta it for de lon'gist time alreadeh." A nod to where the young Troll sat carefully sharpening a skinning knife for the old man. "Numal, he be goin' wit ya." The long ears of the servant perked, and he shot a sly grin Tes'an's way. Jimiaja narrowed his eyes when he caught it. "An' you! Keep ya damned 'ands off m' dahtah!" Numal sneered indignantly towards the old Troll.

"Ah donna know what ju be talkin' 'bout, ya ol' fool," he quipped, still grinning Jimiaja's way. "Ah neva 'ave touched yo dahtah." Tes'an's father growled slightly and pulled a knife from his belt. With a quick flick of the wirst, it was sent flying and sank itself into the wood of the chair Numal was sitting in...a hair's width away from the inside of his thigh. Jimiaja pointed an accusing finger at the servant.

"Ju watch it, mon. Donna thin' ah don' know what yas are doin' when ju are gettin' home late. Ju talk back ta meh again, ahs gonna cull ya!" Jimiaja punctuated this with a firm nod. The servant blinked a bit at the blade before looking back up to his master with a wicked grin, knowing that the old troll would never hurt him. Pulling the knife out of the wood it was implanted in, he began sharpening that one as well. The hunter looked his daughter's way once more. "Nah, ah want ju to promise ahn ol' troll that ju will be listenin' to his words. Make yah way to Bloodhoof, an' train yoself da bes' ju can. Yah stick to Numal, he will be watchin' yah ta make sure dem beastleh moos donna try nothin' with yas. Ah know ju be afear'd of dem..." Tes'an's eyes fell towards the floor and the old Troll sat up, reaching a gnarled hand out to softly pull her to him in a comforting embrace. With a huff she buried her face into her father as he chuckled softly. "Nah nah...ju gotta get over dis some time or anuddah. Just cause dey got da horns don' make them a Grim, ya know." A slight nod from the young huntress and she pulled away, taking another thoughtful bite of apple before looking to the servant as he watched her, a compassionate smile on his tusked face..

"Come, Numal. We bes' be gettin' some huntin' done so da ol' Troll gots sometin' to do while we be gone," she sighed, then looked back to her father with a smirk. "He will onleh need enough fo' a tunic or two, he work so slow now..." She snickered and dodged the swat directed her way, prancing towards the door and grabbing her axe from its place by the doorway as she passed through. Numal smirked at the femme and grabbed his dagger, nodding to Jimiaja as he followed his mistress. The old hunter sighed, then with a twinkle in his eyes, called after them.

"Ju bettah be huntin' tonigh'...Ah am not reddeh to 'ave da gran'moos yet, ya know!" The remainder of the apple Tes'an was eating hurled through the doorway, making Jimiaja almost lose his seat as he dodged it, cackling after the two young ones. As they ran off in search of a warm trail, Jimiaja got to his feet with a grunt of effort, and made his way to stoke the hearth as it began to flicker low. His long, trollish ears picked up the sound of hooves from outside the door, and he grinned to himself, not looking up. "What, Numal done dirtehin' ya up fo da night alreddeh?" A wicked chuckle rolled from him, but when the old hunter was answered with only silence, his eyes turned towards the door. The shadowy figure standing in the doorway made him drop the stick in his hand and straighten in surprise. "Who ju be?" he queried, squinting to make out a face...

Tes'an furrowed her brow as she got a better grip on the cord bundling the stack of hides, and with a grunt, swung it to her shoulder, her hooves planting under the weight. The servant chuckled at her and reached to help steady her. "Ju try to carreh too much, gahl. Ju should let da slave boy do dis fo da lady." A charming grin was shot to the femme and she sneered in reutrn.

"Ju soundin' like fathah...Ju canna do dis, ju canna do tha'. Jus' let meh work alreddeh." Numal grinned and shrugged as he shouldered his own burden.

"Allrigh', suit yo'self." He pranced beside her as she struggled a bit, before a glare served to quiet the wicked smile beaming her way. Stopping, he took a deep breath and looked to the starry night above. "Ah, Desolace! Soon ah be outta 'ere, wit da prettehest moo in all of da worl'!" Tes'an snickered and shook her head as she continued to walk, and the young troll grinned and walked backwards in front of her so he could look her in the eye. "Wha? Ju don' think so?" She opened her mouth to answer and he cut her off loudly. "Well, ah thin' so!" he hollared loudly, smiling from tusk to tusk.

"Ju be so loud...ju gonna wake up all of Shadowpreh!" Tes'an reprimanded him, reaching and giving his right tusk a tug. That grip always managed to jerk his head in a way that Numal would stumble, and so he did, growling at the Tauren before grabbing hold of her tunic and causing her to fall as well. When she was beside him, he held her there, his long tusks carefully finding a place on either side of her muzzle. His expression was gentle now, as he looked over the young huntress with a slight smile.

"Ah don' care...Ah realleh don'..." He leaned down to kiss the top of her nose before canting his head at her, his smile now faded. "What ah do care abou', is whetha ju 'ave thought abou' what ah been askin' ya." Tes'an huffed softly and looked away, but a trollish hand moved her chin until her gaze met its owner's once again. "Ah love ju, Tes'an. Ju an' meh shou' be mates." She squirmed a bit but he held her still.

"But fathah..." the huntress began, and the servant chuckled and shook his head.

"Ju know as well as ah do tha' Jimiaja woul' 'ave nottin' to say agains' it. Meh an ju, we'd take care of da ol' boy." A meek look etched across Numal's features. "We carreh on his work, and we give 'im doze gran'moos he be bitchin' fo'. Tes, ju know ah wanted ju fo' m'mate since that day in Durotah. Now, we are gonna go out intah da worl' an' start our trainin'. Ah woul' much rathah it be as troll an' mate den troll an' mistress." He looked at her pleadingly and Tesan sighed softly, her arms moving to embrace him, his tusks moving on either side of her jaws until his lips touched hers in a loving kiss. The Tauren was smiling softly as she broke away, looking up at Numal.

"Well, when ju put it like tha', how can a gahl say no, eh?" This was all the servant needed to hear, and with a whoop he jumped to his feet, a hand taking hers and pulling her to her hooves as the troll cheered at her. Tes'an splayed her ears and swatted at him. "Bah! Ju still ah loud troll!" Numal beamed proudly.

"Ah didn' care befo', an' ah donna care now! Come," he reached down and took both bundles of hides, swatting her away from the one she had been floundering under a few minutes before, "Ah don' feel like waitin' on ya, ah want ta get yo' fathah's blessin' befo' the bloodeh sun rises, eh?" Blowing a kiss to her, he ran ahead, easily carrying the hides with him as Tes'an scrambled after with a playful growl.

The huntress was so happy, everything else was blocked from her mind. It took a while for the scent of smoke to hit her; took a bit longer than that to notice that her soon-to-be-mate's pace had drastically slowed, then stopped, at the top of the rise overlooking their home. When the bundles he was carrying dropped to the ground and his dagger quickly pulled from it usual place on his belt, Tes'an finally realized that something was terribly wrong. Her pace hastened until she stood beside Numal, and with wide eyes she took in the sight before her.

Flames shot from the windows of the small dwelling, the roaring fire quickly consuming their home in the dry air of Desolace. The dark forms of the Grimtotem raiders moved swiflty as they loaded what they could onto their kodos, grinning to each other on a job well done. Golden eyes then fell upon a prone figure, the feathered ends of arrows protruding from its back as the largest of the bulls searched the pockets of his victim. Tes'an shook her head slowly in disbelief, her jaw slack as she tried to scream but couldn't draw a breath, let alone make a sound. Finally, her sences caught up with her and face curled with rage and sadness. Axe handle found it's place in her palm and, not thinking, she charged. Numal, in horror, scampered after her.

"Tes'an, no! Dere ah too many!" he pleaded, but the femme could only think of getting to Jimiaja's side. With a grunt, Numal brandished his blade and followed his love towards the raiding party.

The large bull slowly counted the gold he had retrieved into a palm, the roar of the flames dulling the sound of thundering hooves until they were almost upon him. Head shot up, and with a wet impact the fine edge of the huntress's axe met him square in the face. A bellow of shock and he staggered back, the gold dropping from his grasp and spreading on the dirt, glinting as the firelight caught them. Tes'an pulled the axe from him as he fell and sent it after the raider once more, then again after that, until he lay kicking his last in the warmth of his own blood. Golden eyes shot to the alarmed party, and with a wolfish snarl, she charged again, axe flashing down amongst them before they could barely lift a bow.

Numal kept close to her side, and kept the attempts on her life at bay as best he could manage. His dagger lashed out at the closest grim and opened his throat wide before targets were switched and a slash appeared across the face of another. Nimbly the handsome troll dodged and parried, always with an eye on the white huntress as she roared and attacked anything within reach.

They could have easily over come the two frenzied attackers, but with their party leader down and many of them now wounded, the Grimtotems beat a hasty retreat to their kodos and mounted, one still fighting off the femme as well as he could. Tes'an pulled the axe over her head in a final attempt to meet his flesh with her blade, but with quick thinking the Grim flicked his mace at the side of her head, knocking her to the ground with force. When she didn't rise, Numal seethed with rage and dove towards the bull, throwing him from the back of his kodo.

The last thing Tes'an remembered seeing was the entangled mass of Tauren and Troll, one with dagger flashing in the hellish firelight, the other bringing a mace down repeatedly over his attacker. A glint of light reflected off the knife as it was knocked away, and Numal reached out for his would-be mate, eyes filled with urgency. Tes'an struggled slightly, her own hand grasping towards him as the mace was brought down once again, with such force that it shattered the tusk it met. Her hand strained again as she whimpered, then fell heavily to the ground once more as everything went to black.

The huntress clung tightly to the back of her wyvern as it glided through the skies with ease, the wastes of the kodo graveyard passing underneath her as her mount wove its way towards Thunder Bluff. Te'san hated flying; that had never changed, but as for the rest of her...

It had been over three years since she and the Shadowprey villagers had helped her bury the battered forms of Jimiaja and Numal. The two males she held most dear to her now resided on a hill outside of town, not far from where their small dwelling had burnt to the ground. Tes'an had withdrawn to the wilds as she mourned in solitude, spending her days hunting alone and her nights roosted in the gnarled tree that held silent vigil over her father and would-be mate.

Something nagged at her, however, and one spring day, she packed up what little she had and made her way to the windrider with a heavy determination in her heart. She had a promise to keep, and though she loved the little fishing village, Tes'an could not bear to remain there another day. There was nothing left there for her, nothing left for her anywhere...only a dark hatred deep within her that pulsed like a dull, aching sickness.

Tes'an hated the Taurens, and these days, didn't limit this abhorance to the Grimtotems. As she landed at the top of the huge totem that overlooked Thunder Bluff, she could only sneer at the flightmaster as he greeted her warmly. Quickly she wound her way down to the lower bluff, and slinked to the lift without lifting her eyes from the ground. She had made this promise, but there was nothing said about liking it. Her bow in hand, she trotted her way towards Bloodhoof, and searched out the trainer she needed to see with great spite in her heart. It should have been Jimiaja teaching her the craft she was intent on, not some cow she had never met. Tes'an stuck to it, however, and followed her lessons with great care, intent on keeping up the trade of her father's family. Other than the times she had to call upon aid to complete certain tasks, she kept to herself, choosing to risk the dangers of soloing in the wilds.

Sleep rarely came to the femme. Her dreams were filled with memories both happy and sad, and when she awoke and looked around, all became painful. Without the face of her father and Numal there to greet her, life was not worth living. So Tes'an would spend the night hunting by the light of the moon and the stars, her only comfort were the songs of the wolves as they carried through the skies of Mulgore.

It was before Ptesan-Wi headed towards the barrens that she met Sevalyn. She and her hunting partner, a young shaman named Shakowin, had sent out a query for help, the two being pretty much clueless in this part of Kalimdor. The kind druid was the only one to answer, and though it was out of her way, made her way to Bloodhoof to answer the questions the two younglings had. A few days after their encounter, she received a letter from Sevalyn, offering her a place in her family, the Four Feathers. Ever skeptical, it was a couple of nights before a letter was written to the one named Verehd. While the thought of being in a guild ran by a Tauren repulsed her, the happy memories of a packlife were too prominent for her to forget. She yearned for that sence of comrodery, her Lupine upbringing reminding her that one without a pack lead a hard, cursed life.

These happenings did not prevent Tes'an from withdrawing into the wilds alone once again. Shakowin began to see less and less of her as she began to wander far and wide, her hooves leading her to nowhere in particular as the femme explored Kalimdor. Soon enough, it was a rare instance to see her anywhere near a town. The huntress didn't care much for company, though svery so often, she would hear the call of wolves in the distance, their voices carrying news upon the winds to their bretheren in the far regions. It was those times that her lonliness would nag at her the worst.

One night, as fate would have it, the huntress came across a familiar scent...but it had been so long, the femme second guessed herself. Feral ways perked once more, however, and she followed the scent to the edge of Thousand Needles...and to a familiar form who wavered tiredly in the shadows of a boulder. A happy yip, a sound not uttered since she had left the pack so long ago, and Tes'an ran to her surrogate mother, embracing her warmly until the worg collapsed in her arms. Alarmed, she checked over the black pelt of the worg, and with a horrified gasp she found the broken ends of three arrows sticking from where they had been impaled in her side. Lifting the Alphess into her arms, the huntress sprinted the distance to Taurajo, and once there, cared for the ancient worg's wounds.

There was nothing but days of silence from the Alphess, until Tes'an demanded to know what had happened to her and the pack she loved so much. Splytt was quiet, then walked out the inn doorway, the Tauren femme quick on her heels. Once out of view of the small village, the worg raised her jaws in a long cry of mourning, and immediately Tes'an's heart sunk to her hooves. When she had regained her composure, Splytt went on to tell her daughter the fate of the Stonetalon Pack.

For years, the pack had prospered in the wilds of Feralas. After forming an alliance with the wolves that had already made their dens there, they slipped into the usual routine of things, and everything was peaceful. The pack prospered, and grew...there had been three litters that season and the pups had a steady intake of hippogryph meat feeding their growing bodies. However, one of the tribes that inhabited the lush land there did not feel there was enough to go around between themselves and the wolves.

"It had begun with the baited carcasses," the Alphess began, her growls full of pain. "They would poison dead hippogryphs and leave them out for the packs to find. Those who ate of the meat would froth at the muzzle and seisure so hard they would snap their own necks. This trick was discovered with great haste, so soon the ground was littered with corpses...some tainted, some not, but noone wanted to risk death in such a way. Then came the traps...horrid metal contraptions that would either kill instantly or maim and imprison for a much slower fate. Many fell to these, they were hidden so well..."

At this point, Splytt leaned down to lick at a mangled back paw. It looked like it was healing well, but had been twisted a bit from the break. She then looked back to her daughter with sad eyes. "When that didn't finish us...they sent the hunters. We....we lost all the pups..." Unable to continue, the battered worg lifted her muzzle to the sky and sang of her pain. Overcome, Tes'an joined her in mourning the loss of their family, her own howls mirroring those of her adoptive mother. Curling around each other in misery, Tes'an looked to Splytt in query.

"Who did this?" she asked quietly, perking an ear when Splytt hung her head.

"The Grimtotems." Tesan's eyes grew wide at the mention of the name, her mother hanging her head low, "And I couldn't save our pack from them." As she buried her face into Tes'an's side, the huntress bristled with an old, familiar hatred. Rage ate at her, and a feeling of dark hopelessness overcame everything. No matter what she did, they still took from her. Everything was now gone, save the battered worg at her side. Nothing mattered anymore...except for one thing...

One last swig from the flask she held in her hand before arm went slack, letting it fall to the ground at her side. Form wavered a moment or two, the worg standing at the huntresses right hand pausing to shoot a glance up at her glazed eyes. They squinted at the dark forms patrolling the complex up ahead. Surroundings moved a bit, causing the world to sway back and forth, though in reality, it was Tes'an doing the swaying. Behind her, dotting the path like a trail of breadcrumbs, lay similar flasks to the one she had just finished.

"You...allright to do this?" asked the worg in her usual growl. A delayed nod and a grunt was all she was answered with, before bow was pulled into her hand and gripped tightly. A hiccup or two, and arrow was nocked and sights drawn on the raider up ahead.

The scent of the place was all to familiar. Long ago, she had played amisdt these very cliffs, frolicked about the trees here in the blissful innocence only held by the very young. Those times were but a blinking memory now...that innocence had died along time ago, in place of herself. This was no homecoming. This camp had never been her home, even when she had thought it was.

There was no hesitation before letting her arrow fly. As soon as it was airborn, another found it's place nestled against the bowstring, and soon followed into the side of the Grimtotem.

If she thought back hard enough, she might be able to recall their names, but they were nothing to her now. Just faces that haunted her. A call of alarm sounded out, and the rumble of hooves announced reinforcements. Muzzle pulled back in a vicious snarl, and axe was pulled into her hands before a howl cried out, sounding her charge.

The rest was a blur of black pelt and crimson blood. Again and again, Tes'an brought her blade down amidst the thick of Tauren flesh, each wet impact fueling her rage and pressing her ownward, deeper into the camp. Behind her lay the bodies of a tribe she once called her own, their forms mutilated by both blade and fang, some still struggling their last. The huntress didn't stop to look at them once they were no longer able to attack her, only moved on to the next. With each strike that fell true, something inside of her was eased, even though this lulling numbness would prove to be only temporary.

Her hand wittingly avoided a certain arrow. It was mean for one Grim, and would not be drawn until she caught sight of him. It had been years since she had seen him, but stilll, his face was burned into her mind; the sneering face she remembered that fateful night, the shine of his black fur highlighted by the fire that was consuming the last home she knew.

The arrow was fletched with the tail feathers of a swoop, the darker color making it stand apart for a purpose. The head was not of the usual sort, iron nor stone used in the crafting of it. The mellow, off white color indicated ivory...troll ivory, to be specific, and the point had been crafted with the greatest care. Numal woud be avenged, and have his part in it.

Another call of alarm, and another wave of raiders came at her. Splytt snarled and leapt at them, tearing at whatever her fangs found hold upon, her own vengence at hand. Drunken haze now swept away in a rush of adrenalin, golden eyes narrowed and focused upon her target, marking him for the kill. Only now did the hand reach back and pull the swoop fletched projectile.

A growl of hate curled her face as hoof lifted, and came down against the dusty ground with a crashing stomp, throwing off the attackers for long enough for her to nock the arrow and take aim. The taget roared at her as he charged, mace in the air, muzzle agape...the twang of the bowsting and the ivory arrowhead was sent into that maw and through the back of his neck. She looked on emotionless as his eyes widened and hands grabbed at the arrow, frantically trying to pull it free.

Axe blade flashed again, clearing the Grim that blocked her path, and the worg fell atop of her, finishing her off so her daughter might proceed. White fur stained here and there with the blood of her tribe, Tes'an moved over the raider and smirked in satisfaction, watching as blood drooled from the corners of his mouth. She could have stood there all day, if Splytt hadn't called out to her.

"More are coming! Take the kill!" A slight nod and she leaned down, pulling an old dagger from her belt and taking a firm grim on the raider's horn to force him to expose his neck. A growl in Lupine was the last he would hear before she took his head.

"Grrrasharr aroorrrek wrrrsherr.." Translated from the tongue of the packlander, it would have made out to something like, "Thy path be lost," the darkest of curses to throw at a kill. Splytt gasped at her and splayed an ear, but said nothing. Tes'an shot her a glance before tying a bit of leather cord to the horns of the servered Grimtotem head and slinging it over her shoulder. Dust was kicked onto the body as it lay twitching its last, and her eyes, dark and sullen at this juncture, cast over the raiders now approaching her with weapons drawn.

A low growl, and three arrows were pulled and skillfully nocked onto her bow, fingers manuvering them just a tad so the tips spread from one another, then drew the bowstring and let them fly. Two found their marks, and two Grims stopped advancing to attend to the arrows that had been driven into their chests, clear to the fletching. The third intended target had brough his sheild up at the last moment, and with a bellow, now charged, his mace brandished. Tes'an was quick to oblige, and as the worg bounded to intercept a shaman as he took aim at her daughter, the femme pulled her axe and stampeded the warrior's way.

While in the wilds, her strength was more than enough to bring down the game she tracked. Against another Tauren, however, she was at a definate disadvantage. The huntress perhaps would have considered this, had she not been so driven by rage and hate, and wisely stayed at range. However, all she could think of was the kill, and with a howl she lunged at him, blade flashing down before sheild was once more brought up and her blow absorbed.

With a snarl she went to bounce away and take another try, but she had struck with such force that her axe was now wedged into the thick wood of the sheild. An ear splayed momentarily as she tried to pull it free, but it was to no avail. With a laugh of hate, the Grim brought his mace against her, knocking the wind from her lungs and dropping her to the ground. Countless lessons from ehr packmates had taught her that once one loses their footing, they are as good as done for...she had seen this first hand when felling game; visions of the fanged hunters swarming a fallen pridewing gave strength to the femme and she snapped to her hooves once more.

Glaring at the warrior, she charged him again, and Splytt, her muzzle dripping with the blood of her last kill, sprung at his back and closed her jaws onto his shoulder. He wavered in surprise, and in doing so, exposed his side for a mere moment. Tes'an took the opening, and lowering her head with a huff, she drove her curved right horn into his ribs, goring him. A snarl of hate as she pushed the roaring Grim back against a tree, driving her weapon deeper before wrenching her head away once more and bouncing back out of reach. Bow was drawn again and arrow nocked...seconds later the warrior was pinned to the trunk and breathing his last.

A victorious howl from Tes'an before she leapt onto the dropped sheild, bracing a hoof against it as she attempted once more to pull her axe free. A bark of warning from Splytt, and she turned around just moments before she was tackled to the ground.

Vision blurred for a moment or two after the back of her head slammed against the ground. Golden eyes blinking, Tes'an stared up into the dark face unseeing until focus was restored. As the face of the bull came into clear view, an impact to the side of her head threw her face to the side, eyes now resting on the various bodies now dotting the compound. The sensation was repeated, then again, and sharp pain throbbed through her right ear...the warm sensation now running down her jawline followed to her chin and dripped crimson onto the dust below.

Eyes glazed over and stared at nothing as a cold wave of serenity washed over the huntress. The abuse she was taking faded into the background, the impacts of the fist a dull thudding in the distance. The head of her love's killer laying nearby, warm contentment filled her and seemed to be lulling her into sleep. Through half lidded eyes, dark shadows wavered in obscured view, their waterlike movements almost calling to Tes'an. Spirit reached for them in query, perfectly at peace to let the darkness overcome her.

For a moment, she could have sworn she saw Numal. For a moment, he was as close to her as he had been those warm nights in the wilds of Desolace...holding her to his chest protectively, the steady sound of heartbeat caressing her ear as she curled against him. The troll's scent was comforting, the feel of him lulling her eyes closed.

All too soon, the darkness seemed to pull him from her and with a cry, golden hues snapped open and blinked at the light of day, it steady harshness cut off by the silhoette that was striking her. The warm thing she was curled against was now the hard ground...the heartbeat, she realized, was her own, and with each pulse the pain returned to her, sharpening her senses until the dark form came into her sights.

There he was, looking on with smug satisfaction. The same he had done that night, so long ago. His face was one she could never forget.

The sight of her father reminded her that her own life had not yet been avenged.

Hand reached for the grip of her axe, and, loosened by her prior attempts, it was freed. Powered by a renewed hate, her other hand worked between herself and her attacker and, without hesitation, pulled the thick brass ring from his nose. Though not the worst injury to sustain, it certainly stopped his relentless pummeling as he bellowed, pawing at his bleeding and torn septum. Tes'an took the opportunity to attempt her escape, snarling as she shoved at him. A hand went from nose to belt, and with a growl of his own, he sent the dagger fastened there into her side, separating ribs with a vicious twist of the blade. A silent scream of pain, and the huntress looked about for the worg who had accompanied her...

Frantic eyes fell upon the form of the worg, her dark muzzle gaped and oozing blood as she stared at her daughter through unseeing eyes. A paw splayed weakly before eyes shut in pain from the inpact of a mace against her side. Another of the Grims had cut her off, knocked her from her feet and was now finishing her off. Suddenly, the pain in her side meant nothing, and eyes flashed back at the raider holding the dagger in her side. Hand gripped the handle of her axe, and with a heave Tes'an tried to to bring it against him.

The way her shoulders were pressed to the ground, she couldn't build the momentum to lift the heavy blade, and instead, let go and brough her fist against the bull's tattered nose. A bellow of hate was released at her, and her hand was slammed back to the ground with great force. The dagger was torn from her side, and once more thrust into her ribs. Tes let out a cry and tasted her own blood...it now drooled warmly down side of her muzzle, and her breath came with a slight, yet growing gurgling quality. A yelp from her side drew her sights, and once more her worg mother came into her view. Splytt could not take too much more...

The Grim growled menacingly and once more golden hues were pulled to the immediate threat. A twist of the blade and it was drawn roughly from her, splintering two ribs in the process. Down the dagger came again...this time aimed at her throat. A grunt of determination, and her free hand caught his wrist on the downstroke. In slow motion they struggled, yet with all her will behind her, Tes'an still watched the reddened blade dip towards her, her injuries sapping her strength quickly. Brow furrowed in hate, and a soft growl rolled from the huntress's maw.

"M'life will be brought to an end soon enough..." she growled in Lupine, causing an odd look from the Grim fighting to take her life. "But yas shall not be tha one ta end it..." The dagger began to slowly ascend away from her, and with a snarl of abhorance, neck arched up and jaws locked on the raider's throat.

She lacked the fangs of her wolfen bretheran, but the sheer pressure and the learned way she wrenched her neck was enough to tear into the bull's jugular. A choking cry of surprise in reaction to the feral attack, the Grimtotem fought to pull away, only aiding her cause. The familiar copper quality of his blood filled Tes'an's muzzle, and with a final muster of her strength, she threw him back, throatless and pawing at himself in horror.

Tes rose to her hooves, and eyes darkened as she looked towards that dark form from prior, sight meeting her father's steadily. The huntress held that gaze, even as she turned her head to the side to spit out the Tauren flesh still held in her jaws. Arm lifted to wipe off her muzzle, a long streak of red staining the back of her hand and wrist now, but still parent and child held that hateful stare.

A whimper and Tes remembered her mother. Axe was swung quickly and impaled in the back of the cow's head, stopping her assault on the worg. Pulling the blade free once more, she shouldered it and the head of Numal's killer before lifting Splytt into her arms. A soft snarl of a chant, and the ghostly form of a cheetah wrapped about her with an echoing growl. A final look back at the cheif, and Tes'an made her retreat, not looking back to see who followed.

The rain made a hollow pattering against the leather, a pool of water forming atop and slowly spilling over the odd angle the temporary shelter held. The worg laying out of the rain was dry and staying that way...so the hasty construction was good enough by the huntress's standards. Splytt winced as she nosed at her bandages, then looked out into the rain at her daughter and splayed an ear.

"Tes, go to the inn. At least for tonight." There was no reply, not even a glare back over her shoulder as she pulled a length of fine thread through her sewing needle and pinched together the flesh on her side. Ears pressed forward, she began to stitch herself back up.

They had made it back to her usual haunt...the area of the tree her father and Numal now resided under, and as a storm had accompanied the dusk, she had thrown together a shelter for her mother. Tes'an was skilled at healing wolves...as for herself, it was another matter. Not that she cared, really. It had taken an hour of convincing from the worg to even get her to down a bottle of healing potion. Now, she was trying to get her out of the storm, but the stubborn huntress wasn't having it. A hand reached up to pull a wet gnarl of mane back over her ear, then with a nip to the thread she tied off her work. Splytt whimpered softly.

"Tes'an...please..." she begged. Again, no reply. Instead, the Grimtotem head was pulled closer, and skinning knife went to work cleaning flesh and fur from bone. The blade of the old knife flashed brightly as lightning played over head, but Tes paid no heed to it. After a moment, however, her movements slowed, then stopped alltogether as she looked towards the sea...its usual blue green flushed to grey with the weather.

"Ah...saw Numal..." she mused softly, then looked back down and continued to work. The worg perked an ear curiously.

"What do you mean, daughter?"

"Exactly that. Ah saw Numal. He was right there..." the knife slowed its scraping once more as she looked back out into nothing. "It was warm...Ah jus' wanted to sleep." The worg huffed and gave a soft nod.

"The black wolf...he takes many forms when he comes for us. Between life and the beyond I have seen Alder many times..." Tes'an perked her ears at this, then looked back down, tossing a bit of pelt away from her.

"So that was..." A soft chuckle before her visage darkend once again. "...You have called to tha Earth Motha many times. Does she ever choose ta answer?" Splytt opened her muzzle, then closed it, mulling this question over.

"The Earth Mother...she has her plan for us. She answers when she sees fit to." Tes'an grunted and shook her head.

"Tha's not what ah asked." She looked over her shoulder to the worg and huffed. Splytt frowned and began to say more, but was cut off. "Today...Ah saw what ah wanted. An' it wasn' tha Earth Motha that brought it." Her task complete, she set the skull against the totem that graced Numal's grave. It would bleach in the sun over time. A soft nod or two, then a sigh as she raised her head up, letting the rain pelt her face and further soak her form. "Ah know my path now, ah think. Tha spirits, they forgotten meh..save one. When ah be done here...ah know what ah haveta do."

Splytt unsure of what to say, watched her daughter walk off into the storm, her silhoette soon obscured by the downpour. A few moments later, and a mouring cry sounded out between the rolls of thunder, caressing the night in the song of the hopeless.