The day was hot, but that was any and every day in Durotar. Miles of sand all around, weather so hot and dry it could weather the bones of a fresh husk. Few things could live here, even fewer who could thrive. But for Bhemarg, he was one of those few.
He spotted his quarry from a mild distance away, a lone boar twice the size of an adult one with tusks that would make even a troll envious. It hadn’t noticed him, not yet; its attention solely focused on a patch of grass that miraculously still lived despite the environment, retaining a vibrant color that one would expect to find in the forests of Ashenvale. He approached slowly and cautiously, his steps firm but steady. The boar still had its back turned to him, already beginning to dig into the sparse vegetation. It had failed to notice him, or the trap laid carefully beneath until…
SNAP
The grass was snatched away, replaced by a crude but effective vice made of wood and iron. The boar squealed loudly, metal teeth digging into its skin; but not deep enough. A regular boar’s hide was thicker than than most animals, and this one’s was even thicker than that. With a firm hoof it stomped on the trap. Once, twice. On the third it finally snapped, half of it falling to the ground with a dull clang. The boar turned around wildly, scanning the area for any sort of threat. That threat was soon spotted, and was charging at it with a speed that with a wounded leg was too slow to react. The last thing the boar saw was the shadow of an axe, and the wild look of the orc that wielded it.
The boar laid limp on the ground; the axe buried into its skull right between the eyes. Bhemarg took a step back, admiring his work.
“This will be a good meal.” He smiled to himself, already beginning to heave it over his shoulder before he heard the sound of hooves. His axe was already raised, ready for a fight, but he halted when he also heard the clinking of iron.
“I see you’re still terrible at the art of patience.” A voice boomed out like thunder, yet somehow it had a mote of gentleness to it. He recognized such a voice, and knew it well.
“About as terrible as you are at sneaking.” The orc retorted, already lowering his axe. He turned casually to meet the gaze of the figure in front of him, one with massive hooves, broad horns, plate armor that shone like a dusk sun, and a thick beard wrapped at the bottom with a leather knot. He walked over brusquely, looking up at them like they were a tall oak, but he was not threatened; on the contrary, he smiled.
“That is neither here nor there.” The bull bellowed, a stern expression on his face. One however, that didn’t last long, immediately giving way to a chuckle. “It’s good to see you Bhemarg.” He took the orc’s hand in his own, a firm shake and clasp on the shoulder.
“Gaalek, you wily bull.” Bhemarg returned the gesture, more fervently with a laugh of his own. “How the hell are you? How long has it been? A year, a year and a half?”
“Try two.” The tauren corrected with two fat furry fingers outstretched “Have you gotten bad at keeping time as well?”
“Time flies when you’re keeping busy.” The orc shrugged “Even more so when it’s muddled with blood and battle.”
“Which I’m sure you’ve found in abundance.” Gaalek teased roughly with another bellow “As have I.”
“You? I thought you Sun Walkers practiced pacifism and wisdom before violence?”
“The path of the sun does not always shine brightly.” The tauren regarded, nodding sagely “There are always spots of shade that need a forceful glare of the light now and again. I doubt An’she will mind.”
“Ha! I hope not. You’re a damn good fighter Gaalek, damn near better than me.”
“Near? I may have to challenge that in the future little brother, but right now…” Gaalek trailed off, his furry fingers combing through his furrier beard, the dark brown hairs bristling. He turned his eyes up, brown orbs that had the look of seriousness and stoicism that the Tauren were known for. “I’m afraid my visit isn’t accidental, nor its purpose to solely catch up.”
Bhemarg looked back, his single red eye poring into their own. A single look was all it took. He nodded, hoisting the boar on his back more comfortably before gesturing with his head. “Come on then. My hut isn’t far.”
The hut in question was small for an orc like Bhemarg, much more so for a tauren. For the both of them, it was beyond a tight fit, like clutter in a wardrobe on the brim of bursting. Although somehow, it worked. Bhemarg sat on one end of the hut, Gaalek on the other. The former was in the process of skinning the carcass, his arms wrist deep in blood and guts.
“The Primalists.” He regarded, a thoughtful yet nonchalant look on his face “Aye, I know of them. Have had a few run ins with them across Kalimdor, near the Barrens.”
“As have I.” Gaalek said, his hooves clasped together while sitting cross legged. His horns threatened to breach the roof of the hut, but he tucked his head enough to where they just skirted the surface. “I was escorting a caravan through the Stonetalon Mountains when I saw the sky. Thunder roared, but the ether was clear. The earth quaked, yet the ground was calm. A strange phenomenon; one I felt I had to investigate. Fortunately, I did not have to go far. Nor did I have to search for long to find the culprits.” He took a drink from the cup offered by the orc. It was fermented milk, sour to the taste, yet nourishing to the body, or so he was told. He could only hope so by the taste. “These Primalists… what do you know about them?”
“About as much as anyone else that’s come across them. They’re shamans, have to be, the way they can bend the elements to their use.”
“Bend.” The tauren repeated thoughtfully “A poor choice of words little brother, as that would imply that they are forcing the elements to submit. On the contrary, I believe the power is given to them, willingly.”
“Bah! Impossible. I am no shaman Gaalek, but even I know the elements can’t be demanded with, only bargained, not unless it’s by force.”
“And yet the elementals are calm and unperturbed.” He countered “At the least from the expert opinion of a shaman associate of mine. No, something else is at work I fear. Something that somehow allows these Primalists to use the elements with great power, without forcing the elementals themselves. It’s almost as if…”
“…They are borrowing that power from another entity.”
“Exactly.” Gaalek nodded approvingly “It seems you can be clever when you make the effort.”
“Quiet.” The orc growled, rummaging through the boar’s stomach, heaving out a pile of guts and intestines. He sat them on the floor with a loud flop before continuing “So, if not the elementals, then what? What is giving these Primalists such power?”
“A good question. One whose answer I imagine lies with the dragons, and their home.”
Bhemarg paused, his gaze turning up to Gaalek with a realization; one that soon after annoyed him “So that’s why you’ve come.” He surmised, unamused. He took a nearby knife, beginning to slice the boar’s hide. “The answer is no.”
The tauren sighed, half-expecting the answer to be such, but undeterred, he continued on. “Bhemarg, I know you are against it, but there is peace now. There is no reason we can’t-“
“I said, no.” The orc repeated, his tone dangerously close to a growl “I don’t care about the peace. I don’t care about the armistice, however temporary it is. I will not work with Alliance scum.”
“Even with everything going on? With all that is happening to the land? This isn’t about the Horde and Alliance. This concerns the world as a whole. It concerns all of Azeroth!”
“It concerns a group of fanatics who have happened to start a few forest fires and thunderstorms.”
“You are understating the matter.”
“Even so, the matter is in hand. And in the hands of scholars no less. This is a problem for learned fellows, not warriors. Not yet. And even if it were, I would not work with the Alliance, not again. Not for all the gold and accolades in the world.”
“It’s not the Alliance! Not truly. It is just the Explorer’s League. A neutral party of scholars who-“
“A branch is still part of the same tree, no matter how far it is from the trunk.” With a firm tug, Bhemarg pulled the hide clean off, leaving the carcass as bare and pink as a flayed limb. The blood dripped from his hands as he hung the hide on the back of the lining, as did the words from his mouth, laced in barely hidden rage. “Mark me Gaalek. I will not work with Alliance, or any group affiliated with them. I will not shed my blood- mine or anyone else’s, for a faction that would sooner discriminate and betray than honor and protect those at their side. They are hypocrites and backstabbers, waiting like snakes in the grass to poison us with false promises and deceive us. Not I, big brother. Not I.”
Gaalek listened silently, his breath like that of an ox: slow, steady, and all too patiently taken. And with the patience of a tree, he continued. “You say you don’t wish to work with deceivers or cowards. Then what of the Broken Shore? The Fourth War? Did you forget what the Horde did?”
A crack rang throughout the air. It was sudden and short-lived, but audible, very much so. The ground lay beneath Bhemarg’s hand, dented and cracked from his fist and seeped in red from the blood that pooled, turning the orange earth a deeper shade of crimson. The orc turned to Gaalek, a wild and angered look in his eye that could only be described as a rabid animal.
“I never forget.” He said slowly “Especially the Broken Shore. And the Horde did not do that. That undead harlot did. She-”
“She sounded the retreat,” Gaalek finished for him “and we followed through with it, leaving the Alliance to fend for itself. She ordered the attack on Teldrassil, ordered the tree and its inhabitants to burn. And we carried the torches.”
“I did not.” He barked back immediately “Nor did you.”
“The Horde did, and we are a part of the Horde.” He regarded the orc with a calm countenance, like a parent easing the tantrum of a child. “She was warchief. Whatever her choices, the Horde followed. Maybe not as a whole, but it followed. That blood, those bodies, the actions and repercussions from her command, that is our responsibility, our sin to bear. Our legacy to move past. I thought you of all people, little brother, would understand the necessity of moving past one’s tarnished legacy to forge a better one.”
He had moved his mouth to shout, to protest, but nothing came. Nothing but the open air and a silent scream as he glared back at the Tauren. And even that, after a moment, faded away. He looked to his fist as he brought it up, the blood dry and the knuckles sore, but it bothered him far less than the turmoil in his breast. Inside he felt rage; rage and wrath that he couldn’t swing an axe at but could nonetheless reel from its blow. And through that rage and wrath, shame. Shame that Gaalek was right, about the Horde and its own sins.
“A branch is still part of the same tree, no matter how far it is from the trunk.” Gaalek repeated the words “And you and I, little brother, are a part of that tree. A part of how it flourishes, and how it rots.” He walked up, placing a firm hand on the orc’s shoulder and looking at him with a stern but meaningful glare. “We are all moving past our sins and mistakes. No matter the group or the person. But this threat, if left unchecked, won’t allow us to do that. The Primalists are a threat Bhemarg, and if they aren’t stopped, they will bring Azeroth to its knees. How can the Horde forge a place for itself in a world about to be destroyed? How can you build a legacy on a pile of ruin? You may hate the words little brother, but you know I am right.”
Bhemarg was still silent, his eyes turned to his fist, then at the boar and its hide. Already flies began to gather round its carcass, the buzzing the only audible sound throughout the hut. Then there came a sigh, a heavy and defeated one.
“I hate when you’re right you damn bull.” Bhemarg huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Gaalek laughed at that “I’m sure you are. As I’m sure others are who feel the same when they know they are wrong and the other party is right.”
The orc walked forward, shooing the flies away with a fat hand before grabbing his axe. He brought it to his face, the iron sheening dully “I won’t work with the Alliance.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, since the Alliance won’t officially be there.”
“I see one soldier there Gaalek, if a single one breaks the peace…”
“They won’t. As with the Legion, we have bigger problems to deal with no?”
“That remains to be seen. But you’re right about one thing. This is a threat, one that needs tending to like an executioner. Fine. I’ll come along. But I’ll help in my own way. Leave the scholars to their books, the researchers to their experiments, I’ll handle the Primalists and their machinations the way I’m best at. With blood and thunder.”
Gaalek smiled at that “Few are better than you at it, me included; when I’ve the blessing of An’she at least.”
“A challenge I’ll have to take you up on in the future.” He reminded with a drawl before shrugging “But for now, tell me more about these Primalists and this homeland of the dragons. The more I know, the better I’m prepared. And the better I’m prepared, the greater the work I can put into the saga.”
The tauren regarded the orc thoughtfully “And what saga pray tell would that be? That of Bhemarg the Manic?”
The axe, brought overhead, slammed into the carcass with a wet slice and a firm crunch. He looked up to Gaalek, a splash of blood on his face that matched his hair and left eye, and complimented the wicked grin on his face all too well. “Who else?”
nice to see someone familiar, yeah I was itching to write and these are nice ways to get that writing exercise.