Day eighty-three

So, I wrote a letter to a friend, took me an hour to write out the words. It was sad. So instead of what I wrote I provide you with a short stories set in the World of Warcraft mythos. Enjoy.

An’she and Mu’sha

Part One of Mistrunner.

The Earthmother, her heart heavy with her children’s plight, could not bear to watch them fall from grace. In her grief, she tore out her eyes and set them spinning across the endless starry skies. An’she and Mu’sha, seeking to ease the other’s sorrow, could only chase each other’s faint glow across the sky.

-Excerpt from Sorrow of the Earthmother.

Mu’sha, the left eye of the Earthmother, glowed dimly through the clouds above the lands of old Lordaeron. A yellow fog hugged the land as a Shu’halo (The Children of the Earth, Tauren) prepared a camp near a dying evergreen tree somewhere in northern Lordaeron. He set his companion, a midnight colored hawk owl, near him as he sat down and wrote in his journal—

Day One hundred and eighty-six: I have found a unique species of what the followers of the Banshee Queen call Plaguebloom. It has some of the properties that The Circle has been looking for. I have still avoided detection from the Scourge, it appears their attention is distracted. The land here is not right, it seems to have gotten progressively worse than when I first arrived. The further I go into the wilds the worse it is. Something is worsening its condition. Although, some parts of the land are fighting back though; it is as if it were a child desperately fighting off an infection. I will continue my mission and bring a sample back to Nighthaven for further study at the end of the…

The Shu’halo heard twigs snapping nearby and stopped writing. He detected no signs of the undead, but it was difficult to see or sense anything in the dense fog that enveloped him. He looked deeply into the fog, straining his eyes, and saw the shape of red flames approaching. “Strange” he muttered to himself as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. The flames did not give off any light, but it was clear to him that they were moving closer. Cold and silent the crimson flames slowly encircled the lone bull. The Shu’halo, sensing the danger, quickly scrawled lettering on his parchment and attached it to the leg of his hawk owl, and said “Go now Ero and find your way home, safe journey old friend.” The sound of drawn steel and human laughter soon surrounded him. It was too late to escape; the Shu’halo grabbed his mace and prepared to fight. The flames approached closer as the laughter grew louder. The moon was soon covered by black clouds and a heavy darkness covered the land like a blanket. In the distance the Shu’halo could hear his name called out.

“Jongo! Jongoooo! Jooonnngooo!” Jongo’s sister screamed as she poked the tired bull in the back.

“Only a dream, or nightmare.” Jongo thought to himself as he trudged across the bridge between the land of sleep and the land of awake. “Go away Nan! The sun has yet to rise and I’m in no mood for your dung!” Jongo yelled.

“Wake up you lazy turtle! Mother wants to speak with you. And oh I umm did it again, brother.” Nan sheepishly held up a large ceramic pot with what looked like a small twig and dead leaves.

Jongo looked at the withered plant and sighed, he closed his eyes and muttered grow. As though by command the twig began to sprout leaves and grew taller and its roots spread quickly. The plant grew to five times its size, bore small fruit, and its large roots curled out and destroyed the ceramic vessel that once held it. “You would be hard pressed to kill this one. Remember to water it once a day.” Jongo chuckled.

“You always overdo things! Hmmph, and you better hurry, Mother looks pretty serious about this, I bet you’re in trouble.” Nan grinned as she skipped out of the room with the large plant in her hands.

It was not yet dawn when Jongo stepped out of his room into the brisk morning air. He looked at his trembling hands as he tried to make sense of his dream. The terror felt real enough and Jongo shook his head. “Only a dream.” He muttered. He saw his mother waiting for him outside her hut; her eyes were sharper than quilboar tusks. He had not seen his mother this concerned or anxious since the death of his father over ten years ago.

“Jongo, Hamuul Runetotem has sent for you. It’s about your brother Chaske. I-I don’t know what this is all about, but he sent for you specifically and would tell me no more. You are to meet him on Elder’s Rise at nightfall. He says Chaske’s on an important errand, but-but something doesn’t feel right.” His mother tried to push back the tears that were flowing down her face.

“I’m sure Chaske’s fine, Mother, He can take care of himself. He’s a fine druid; Hamuul himself said that he was the best he’s seen in decades. besides, we both know that he’s on a special errand for the Warchief.” Jongo said grasping his mother’s shoulder.

“It’s been over half a year since we’ve heard from him, not one word, and I don’t know what to think. And now out of nowhere Hamuul’s messenger comes and says you are needed and it’s about Chaske!? What could it mean?” Jongo’s mother replied.

“I don’t know Mother, but I will let you know as soon as I find out. The sun’s almost up and I have to tend to the northern orchards they are looking a little withered, I’ll let you know what happens after the meeting, I promise, I love you Mother.” With that said Jongo hugged his mother and left for the fields below Thunder Bluff.

The day passed quickly and soon An’she, the right eye of the Earthmother, descended slowly toward the edge of the World. Bright hues of pinks and oranges were painted behind her wake, the sky blazed, and Mu’sha, the left eye trailed not far behind. In the distance the sound of drums pounded like thunder echoing off of mountains. Day was at an end and the many Shu’halo that were out farming, hunting, and gathering were returning to their homes on the windswept mesa of Thunder Bluff. Jongo Mistrunner stood, staring at the bright orb falling behind cascading mountains, on one of the wood planked bridges that connected the main rise of Thunder Bluff to the Elder rise. The bridge swayed softly, rocked by the wind, as if it was being cradled by the Earthmother herself. “What could Hamuul want or need and what does this have to do with Chaske?” Jongo reflected as he continued to watch the setting sun.

End of Part One.