After inf Ferli and Tanrir of what the Timbermaw would have to prepare for… that is, a massive increase in movement and preparing themselves to hunker down, I was ba the air.

  Finding Ursol was quick, and while doing so, I tio take in the magnifit sight of Undrassil and Hollowmaw as a whole, with the surrounding cavity and caverns.

  It was one and the same; Hollowmaw stretched across it all. Its three-dimensional nature mags usable space, which could be altered aended. It had limitless possibilities and was easily defensible against most forces.

  It was the tral part of my pn for preserving furbolgs in Kalimdor until Ashenvale was sed so that even the weakest of cubs could walk freely and not fear the malignant taint of the nds. It was the safest, least plicated solution to an apocalyptic sario.

  It was what humans oh did, and I shamelessly took inspiration from them. It was just that Fel ah repced deadly radiation and endless nuclear winter from a nuclear war here.

  But the bunker and potential capital was a skeleton, a mere shadow of what it could be, a house without most furniture and lesser essentials.

  There were the rough markings of living areas, farms, stes, and the like, but three years pinly didn't suffice to actually make those or finish growing and carving the entire pce. And many of them were limited no matter how much magic you poured.

  But the big three of food, water, and shelter were garnered, and the rest could be doer on the fly. Making it liveable and, at a minimum, fortable had been Ursol's and my priorities, and we succeeded.

  It won't be a five-star den, but it would amply suffice, and at worst, sleeping tion. We could enter a state of lethargy like hibernation, after all.

  But my teacher's focus had been, among other things, on totems, totems that were sprinkled all around Hollowmaw for many purposes. It showed how incredibly skilled he was, the assistance of shamans or not due to the scale. He was the brain and the brawn.

  Chief among his totems was the plethora bonded with elementals to recreate natural phenomena like rain and wind and solidify the cavern structures—those parameters vital to keep Hollotimal funing without the sun aher of the outside.

  Well, mostly, it wasn't perfect, but it would do. It had to.

  The totems at the bottom served a different but equally important purpose, as well done by the Wise Bear. They dealt with the dead; more precisely, they would protect our aral spirits by letting them move here far away from any demons and undead.

  Sihis se wouldn't be finished in time, the spirits would be limited to certain parts of Hollowmaw, and many would enter dormanbsp;

  This pce was anything but perfect. But until our nds healed, it was the best as the opposite was worse, far worse.

  Our burying grounds weren't merely haunted cemeteries after all—they were part of us, sacred and real. Despite that, I saw the aors as equal, not abstract people to revere as many shamans viewed them, and it remained maddening. Thinking of it worsened my mood.

  Our territories would be desecrated, for we would abandon them, but the living mattered more than what could be rebuilt in time, and the spirits agreed. Nobody desired that; it was a hard pill to swallow, but that was the fine liween stupidity and ce. Many would fight regardless, but many more would be saved.

  The Bear Lord was down there w on those totems. My old me this much. I had picked his smell and that of furbolg blood far before my eyes and ears, which was why I wasn't surprised in the least.

  This life-giving liquid was a focus for the spirits reted to the willing giver. It could be bones and personal effects, among other things–and those were used too–but blood was an easier reagent to get.

  Ursol was soon in my sight and was hard to miss. Blue and glowing like he was standing on his hind legs with a striking stilting staff of bronze and wood older than the dragons–a gift of Freya–able to shapeshift to be perfectly held in his right thumbless paws.

  "Ursol!" I called, nding in front of him. Hehe didn't stop his casting, but his bright golden eyes were on me—a familiar warmth in them.

  He finished casting his spell mere seds ter–his staff moving to his bad he was on all fours even if the other position was natural. He sniffed me and bumped my head, as I did, in reciprocation to the physical greeting.

  "Yes, my young tutee? What troubles you?" He asked with a twinge of his usual pyfulness, but I could tell he was anticipating the worst. There was a tension. If only I could prove him wrong. I wao break his expectations, but the truth remaihe same.

  It was bad, oh so very, and incredibly bad.

  "It's time, teacher. I feel it; each day that passes, it gets worse. The demonivasion is on our doorstep, if not inside already, and is merely waiting to strike." I said, snarling, my urgency slipping in my voice more than I would have liked.

  It pissed me off. It was irrational, but I ast the point of g. The st few weeks had been very unpleasant, and the numerous whining elven druids insulted by my very existence made it plicated to work with the arion Circle, which didn't help.

  To think they would be o talk to after I take care of esc the tribe…

  "Just getting here, I sensed a demon and a cohort of twenty satyrs. Right o Timbermaw Hold. No fight happened. I ambushed them, but they were there… These filths shouldn't if the fug Legion wasn't to e te all soon!" I said hotly. The ground cracked under my cws, and the twinge of pain from the force more than the destroyed bedroly made me angrier.

  But before I spiraled further, a bump of the nose from the Wild God–his head noticeably bigger than mine–made me freeze and breathe ht after.

  He slowly moved back, his cool gaze of age pasts focused on me as he stood there, steadfast and seretentive. His aura was a stab of crity in my instinct-fueled mind.

  He wasn't someoo cry over—that was too human. No, he was a guide, a mentor, and someone I was right to pce my trust upon: someoher above nor below, an equal, a friend, a brother of sorts.

  "Sorry for my outburst Ursol." I loudly huffed while sitting on a big stone, feeling little to no shame over my earlier showing besides relief.

  By the Bear Lords, I was angry still, but it was focused again. trolling it was hard, and from Miel's words, this emotional rawness was to expect till my death.

  Only time and experience would temper it. It was a raging inferno of bloodlust for whed ours and, in general, pissed us off—it was naturally found in furbolgs and amplified by the Totemic Ritual. And mine was especially strong before and even more after.

  "It's just… There is a lot, and I wish we had more time to prepare." I said, absentmindedly noting how the damage oone repaired itself at a speed visible to the naked eye.

  "So do I, Ohto. As, reality often disappoint, but hard times are no reason to let despair win over your heart. I will do my part, and you shall do yours." The Bear Lord rumbled pensively and was equally displeased as I was. He smelled e, but it was well hidden and perfectly trolled.

  "Yes… I shall, teacher." I responded with little enthusiasm, but my preferences ged nothing. It wasn't a time of joy; violence was only satisfying when little was at stake on my side. Hypocritical, but that was the truth.

  As to my part, it was to assist all around as a mobile battle healer while he would be guarding the northmost part of Ashenvale–Hollowmaw's biggest oint–by diminishing, isoting, and managing the corruption.

  However, before that, he would warribes in zo risk through visions to migrate to the den capital bunker and watch over the entire process with me and the shamans.

  It was a lot anizing and pnning if we wanted a swift and safe retreat.

  That means whehird War enters full swing, we won't see much of each other outside the Emerald Dream uhe main battlefield shifts where the bear demi-god would be. However, it was sedary and more due to my higher mobility.

  her of us liked this figuration, but it was the most optimal choice, given that he would be a prime target for the demon leader if he became too inve. It was even why Ursol didn't prance around.

  Losing this invasion wasn't a fear. The Dragon Aspects would move their scaly asses before that–not that this was reason to sck off, there was a real fear the dragons proved to be useless–but the long-sting damage during it was a boundless source of it.

  ?????

  Three days ter, in the deep recess of the Stoalon Mountains, under a tent of kodo leather, was an elderly female tauren.

  The bright sunlight passing through made the white fur of her muzzle stand out even more over the dark grey fur of her body as she stood over an unusual wooden table. Roots and branches melded together with bark and leaves were its everything.

  It was a living anism, a tree grown in that shape that would shift back to an uposition whe alone.

  Atop this table-shaped tree on a supremely ft and smooth stoe was an assortment of items seldom taurens usually possessed or evehe existence of.

  Her aged, calloused hands of three bulky digits h would lead oo believe clumsiness. Her rapid, methodical, and precise movement as she weaved the sharp silvery head of her elveher pen h above a piece of white paper and the perfect calligraphy of her writing proved how misleading this impression was.

  Dipping the ented silver head of her pen into the crystal fsk taining dark pnt-based iracted from an Ashenvale flower, she went on writing her and regarding trade.

  "Lad-Lady Magatha!"

  A deep voice ced with exhaustion shattered her focus, making ink splotch the paper she had been writing for the st half hour. Her tail snapped on the wood support, and her ears twitched ireme annoyance as she huffed loudly.

  But the Elder e remained posed. Or as posed as she deemed it necessary. It was a voice she reized. It was one of her ruaurens traio transport messages across the harsh climates and deadly wilderness of Kalimdor. He had permission to act brazenly in her presence, a privilege he better had used wisely.

  If his reasons proved unving, she would not be so calm for long. She hoped for his health and well-being, but they weren't.

  "I-ug uf! I e bearing strange uff straales of never-seen-before creatures warring!"

  Magatha paused, her stoare hard on the young male as if staring straight into his soul. He squirmed, but she did not care about his weakness. His words were preoccupying, and her shimmeriions cooled down by their implications.

  'Is… is that the time? It 't be...' The Grimtotem matriarch thought, a spike of dread growing i of her stomach. An unwanted rea she squashed almost immediately.

  Standing up, she swiftly put her feather pen into its silver holster and motiohe bull to give the leather gs. She snatched the first before the runner hastily put the remaining oable of living woods.

  "Your services are appreciated. Now go." She dismissed him curtly, her voice taking a frosty edge at the gravity of the situatioe her praise. He followed her order faster than it left her lips.

  Taking and unfurling the scroll from its protective yer, the words of Taur-ahe she read made it impossible to deny her earlier thoughts. Another spike of dread coursed through her stomach, this time ohat lihe more her eyes flew across the lines and their meaning echoed in her mind.

  It was time.

  She was aware of the existential threat ahead. The giant golden-eyed furbolg had seen fit to inform her of it. A demonivasion from the Great Dark Beyond with a singur goal: the extin of all life aru of the Earthmother.

  The signs these abominations were ied in the first scroll.

  her were those signs of the disease nor a symptom, but they marked the beginning of chaos—the reigns of chaos over a fragile stability they had been thriving for.

  Or so if it was to be seen as the truth, the Elder e didn't doubt her furbolg terpart. She wao, she wished to, but she didn't–couldn't–regardless of her want of the opposite.

  His infuriatingly many advantages over her made it wholly improbable for him to spout falsehood of this magnitude.

  He that to garner her assistance. He had it already and was aware of this much. Even if he rarely made it known fatha, assuring the shamanic ursa totemic wouldn't feel ined to.

  Druidism was reason enough, and it was only the obvious: Ohto was key to the Grimtotem tribe's betterment and survival. He opehe veo allyship with the furbolgs, leading to trades and tact with night elves, even if the tter proved, as a rule of thumb, to be extremely difficult to work with, making the druid shaman even more important.

  She uood him. The Greenweald furbolg rideful, hot-tempered, and happy to ze around when given any opportunity.

  He was intelligent and had a rational open-mindedness. A mind the

  Elder e sought in her desdants but only ever saw in herself until they met, but he was no deep schemer. He possessed the social and political tactfulness of an unwieldy mace. He was a furbolg all the same.

  As such, he spoke the truth; the bag of a mythical Wild God was a pelling argument, too.

  Still, to what extent what was foretold was to happen remained fatha to see with her own two eyes. From the first look, those outnders were the same as those spoken of and were a sign that it was time.

  As to the outhemselves, they were divided into two distinct fas with btay. It was hatred. A potent and old one from the faraway nd they inated from if the mutual violence described was accurate.

  The first was posed of smaller pink-skinned kaldorei-like beings of varying eyebrow length, ear size, and pointiness with less fshy patchy fur on their faces and heads.

  If they were one raultiple was to be seen.

  The sed group was far mrant on that front. It was a rat tag group of three to four distinct races. The most populous simirly resembled kaldorei but differed in their unnatural green skins, stocky builds of pact muscles, and tiny tusks pointing upward. And they were, on average, slightly taller.

  The sed were goblins, who were seen w with them on occasion. Their true allegiance was doubtful. The third were trolls–an integral part of this horde this time–her were they the pale yellow-skinned ibal savages of the harsh Tanaris desert or the midnight blue elusive dark trolls of Ashehe fourth and st were taurens… but not any taurens.

  Bloodhoof taurens. Free Bloodhoof taurens, and from their numbers, it was the tribe itself. The sight of the Bloodhoof Chieftain speaking to the stocky greenskins alleged leader firmed the above. Though the trolls had o speak of, obeying the greenskins' own.

  The ey of the Bloodhoof popution was there, or what remained of them alive.

  And the leader of the greenskins–a young male with a distinctly decorated metal hammer–was at the head of it all.

  A sardonic smile found its on the old matriarch's grey snout. There was little genuine joy, however.

  "To lower yourself like this, e, yet not attempt tact… you wound me." She chuckled mirthlessly to herself. By all ats, the Bloodhoof taurens had submitted to outsiders. It was enough to make one feel ashamed by association.

  The Grimtotem, before the taur's massive migration, had only for equal the Bloodhoof. It had never evolved beyond that point in spirit; they remaihe mightiest of tribes, but whereas one ceaselessly weakened from asinine honor-bound stubbornness, her taurens under her rule didn't.

  This fashion aggravated further with Ohto. It was ironic to think she had beeing with her chieftains whether to tact the old bull to offer aid if he admitted to his inferiority and wrongdoings or let him suffer the sequences of his foolishness and e to help. As, it seemed it would never e to pass, his loss.

  Shaking her head, the Elder e unfurled the sed scroll and frowrailing the simplified map drawn. She drew an unpleasant clusion after a quick mental calcution and using the prior information.

  There weren't many logical expnations that weren't a decration of war. Or to obtain lumber, but the difference might as well be ient sihe greenskins–especially these ones–appeared to be failures at diplomacy that didn't involve blood ah. The night elves themselves weren't the most agreeable in the best ditions, and mixing both with that sario wouldn't end well.

  And it was going to happen.

  A cohort of mostly those greenskins–a tribe or by the banner–was sent up North to Ashenvale, where the dark forest opeo the Barrens. And those greenskins appeared to be the elite warriors of this patchwroup. And they would be less than two days away from Ashenvale by now. The meeting would be explosively violent.

  'Has e not warhem? Has the fool lost his damnable mind!?' Magatha internally bemoaned; Ohto o be made aware of both points. It was necessary, and the backsh if she didn't would be substantial.

  A pointless war was uable in those times; she would stomp it down. It didn't e out of the kindness of her heart but simple logic. It would simultaneously prove a worthwhile show of willio the night elves, ohe Grimtotem tribe o gain popurity among the kaldorei.

  After all, she was aware of what was to e when the invasion ushed back–given victory was attained and it would–none would be unscathed.

  The kaldorei, in particur, would suffer the most, and their arrogance surely would crumble into shards. Shards Magatha would pick up. Opportunities o be grasped in those ining times.

  Regardless, she o avoid fusion; a tauren for a night elf was a tauren no matter the allegia would be deplorable if a Grimtotem was mistaken for a Bloodhoof.

  The_Bip_Boop2003

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