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<sections translated from a boar's mind to a form easily understood by people>

It was a good day to be a boar. The Tribe had no pressing business and Anca was staying around the Guild Hall, the animals were all taken care of and safe, so Snuffletusk had the day to himself. The morning's romp in the grasses of Nagrand was particularly refreshing, as well as the swim in the lake. But as the afternoon grew longer, he was ready to hunt for his favorite treat: truffles. He ate them often enough, but half the joy was finding them yourself and eating them right out of the ground. Ah, truffles. The Earthmother's gift to boars.

The best truffles, Snuffletusk knew, were in Ashenvale, a short journey through the portal to Orgrimmar, then up the river. Even the spiders knew to give him a wide berth as he passed under the trees. The sun dipped low before Snuffletusk had his fill. A good hour's worth of digging and eating. It was a good day to be a boar.

Snuffletusk trundled back towards the river, passing by the logging camp along his way. But the sounds were wrong. The machinery, the sawing, the barking orcs, their sound was gone. Instead, he heard battle.

He ran to the clearing and peeked over a rise. The camp was in disarray, guards running, peons dropping their logs and trying to escape. To the south, Snuffletusk saw the cause of all the chaos. Five people, just five people, with magic, arrows, and steel. The boar knew he should leave. He couldn't stand up to the five, judging by the way they were killing guards in mere seconds and knocking down the peons with a single blow. By the time he got to Orgrimmar, these people would be gone, but the trackers might be able to get revenge for this despicable attack. With all he could muster, he burst into a run, until he heard the cry.

A peon, barely older than little Anca, running away from these devils, tripped over a root and fell. He was not going to get away from the armored human coming up behind him. Snuffletusk turned, and with his most fearsome squeal, charged headlong at the man.

He certainly got the human's attention. At least, it knew *something* had hit it as it was flying through the air and smashing into a tree. Snuffletusk turned and dug his hooves into the dirt, baring his tusks and facing down another human. "Hit the ones in cloth first," he remembered, lining himself up to the man wearing fine robes. He leaped forward and flattened that human, too, goring its leg with his right tusk, spoiling its spell before it could pull it off. The boar bit down, knowing he had to put this human down fast of it would be more trouble that it was worth. Another tear with his tusks as the priest was calling out to his party.

Another spell spoiled before the big human in armor managed to get in a blow. Snuffletusk threw himself against the man's knees, hoping to knock it down before returning to the robed one. But the warrior didn't fall this time, and the healer's words sent the air around it glowing. Bad, bad, bad.

By the time he turned back to the healer, the others joined in, and Snuffletusk knew he wouldn't be getting away the moment he felt the sword cutting into his haunch. But still, he tore, and bit, and trampled, keeping them busy until the one with the tentacle-face finally brought him down with a bolt of lightning. He fell to his side, his eyes swimming, his breathing labored. But he could see, between long blinks, that the little boy had gotten away, as well as a great many of the logging crew. The Great Gorer would be proud. But he was sad that his last fight was not at the side of his friend, Anca. Anca would miss him.

The dwarf in leather walked up to the armored human that stood over the huge boar. "Wait," it said. "Me brother, 'e might have use fer a beastie like this'n. Let's load 'im up!"

In the Ironsong guildhall, well past midnight, a little orc girl slept on the floor next to a plate of food she and Coranda put together for when Snuffletusk came back. He was usually back so soon when Anca called for him.
OOC: This is the start of a small storyline that will come to a sort of a conclusion at the Moot on the 22nd. PLEASE feel free to add to this thread if you want to, and RP with Anca in guildchat to further the story.

The conclusion will be at the end of the moot, and will involve a raid on an alliance town in Northrend. Please join in with this if you can, as the more of us that go, the less likely anyone will get ganked before we're done. The only requirements are that you are willing to be flagged during the fight and that you are capable of flying in Northrend. If you are unable to fly there, then please feel free to lend moral support before and comfort after, when the raid returns. I hate to leave anyone out who might want to come along, but I'd feel worse if a lower-level person got one-shotted by an alliance lvl80 for indulging in some RP. If you have any questions about the upcoming event, please send me a message or ask me in ironsongooc when I'm on.

And please remember, until further notice, we don't actually know Snuffletusk has been boarnapped! Just that he hasn't come home yet! He's a tough boar, and can usually handle himself! Big Grin

Thanks for joining in! Smile
Getting up to take care of necessity, Coranda found Anca sleeping on the floor. She found a blanket and draped it over the little girl, smoothing down her hair and giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. A slight frown crossed Cora's face at the uneaten plate of food, and she set a very small shield of pebbles around it to ward off ants. Hopefully nothing would spoil in the night.
Stalkinghoof rose from his slumber just before dawn. He always rose this early every day. He had to attend to his stable of pets. The animals were more like his family than pets. Stalkinghoof moved very quietly. His great size did't seem to hamper him at all. He didn't wish wake anyone, as most were still sleeping. His gaze came across Anca, the Orcish girl, who was still asleep. It was then he noticed that her great boar, Snuffletusk was not curled up next her. That was odd. Stalkinghoof couldn't remember the last time he had not seen the boar with her. He then turned to his she wolf, Waya. "Have you seen the boar?" Waya took in a deep breath of air letting her keen nose tell her what her master wished to know. "The boar's scent is quite old." Stalkinghoof frowned "Well, when Anca is awake I will ask her." Stalkinghoof strode from the guild hall to attend to his animals.

I would be happy to help you with this. The only thing is, I do not have any PVP experience. So, I don't know how much help I will be in a fight. I will try my best to help out and shoot stuff if need be. I think this will be a fun experience as well as a great opportunity for some RP fun!
Stalkinghoof, 85th level Tauren Hunter
Krinar Cloudcleaver, 85th level Tauren Warrior
Zerthis Waterwalker, 85th level Orc Shaman
"Well, that's not a good smell," was Snuffletusk's first thought. He blinked his eyes open to see light coming through wood slats. A crate. He was in a stinking crate.

"Should be easy enough to bust through," came next, though stopped by the pain when he tried to get up. Oh yes, the fight. He shifted to lick at the wound on his foreleg and found where that stench was from. Some kind of poultice that smelled of mash had been rubbed into the injury. Not near as good as the cures those tauren use.

He shifted again to get his snout against the slats. The air outside was cold and salty. Travelling. But the sound was not of a goblinship. Less wood, more metal. Alliance.

He closed his eyes again. Perhaps he could break out...after a little...rest...
As she hiked the now unfortunately familiar back hills of Netherstorm, Coranda reflected on the night before.

"I'm going to have to make the main table more inviting. Hardly anyone sat down last night during that ... spirited discussion. Maybe I'll take up Krell's suggestion to add a firepit. Hmmm. Oh, and we should get some more varied chairs. Last time he tried to sit at the table, Umu crushed four of them before I could convince him to just sit on the floor, and then the splinters were terrible. And poor Anca couldn't see past the top of the table without having to sit on her pauldrons for a booster seat."

At the top of the hill, she stopped and surveyed the area, first with her natural sight, then with far sight, then by placing a sentry totem in dangerous areas to be triply sure. Finding nothing, she pushed back a stray lock of hair trying to find its way back to braids no longer there, and spread a blanket for a rest.

"Poor Anca indeed. She's been unusually ... grave ... recently. Not quiet, exactly, but more serious than usual, and certainly more distracted. Even the treats don't seem to cheer her as they once did. And sleeping on the floor instead of one of her hidey holes! I don't know what's gotten into her. Maybe she's missing Snuffletusk? She does keep asking about him ..."

With a sigh and a shake to clear her head, she packed up the blanket and trudged on, calling for her husband and hoping for the best.
Anca wasn't eating candy this holiday. Nor was she around the guild hall much. When she was around, she seemed rather despondent, lost in her own thoughts, often not noticing right away if someone addressed her. Snuffletusk hadn't come back since he left four days ago.

The whistles didn't bring him, nor the food left on a plate on the floor. And even the ability very skilled hunters learned - that of bringing a dead pet back to life - brought nothing. Cold comfort to mean that Snuffletusk was still alive somewhere. Or maybe the girl simply was not skilled enough to bring him back without the body present.

And no leads. None had seen the boar in days. No tracks found.

Anca was becoming a quietly little gray cloud hovering about.


Everything smelled of dwarf. Dwarf and snow. And Snuffletusk was tired of seeing that ugly dwarf waving that stick at him, jabbering away. When he got his strength back, Snuffy would take that stick in his tusks and shove it right up...

But the chain on him was still too strong.


((OOC: Moot tomorrow, when Snuffletusk's location will be discovered, and you are invited to join in the rescue! To join in the fight, please be willing to flag up and please have the ability to fly in Northrend. The more people in the raid, the less danger and the quicker the fight. If you can't join in or don't want to pvp, you are very welcome to give moral support through the guildchat and provide comfort upon the raiders' return! Hope to see you there!))
"This boar be a tough one," said one dwarf to the other, "but stubborn. He's not breakin' yet. I'll keep on 'im."

"Aye, do that. Ya'll have a fine beastie, ya get 'im calmed down," the other answered as he was strapping bits of runed armor to the exhausted boar. "I've not seen 'is like outside o' th' pens back home! And then only one in an 'undred!"

Snuffletusk wheezed, tired from the struggling and the lashings. "Great Gorer, give me strength," he thought.

Donalzon dropped from his drake and landed hard on his feet, cracking the ice ledge at the edge of Frosthold. The guards immediately took notice, running toward him as he raised his weapon and smiled. Out of the fog behind him, a full twenty Ironsingers leaped from their mounts, power crackling around them. They charged as one.
Anca had his scent, knew where he was, and made her way through the battle towards her friend.

Snuffletusk lifted his snout, sniffing the air. Familiar smells were coming in with the sound of battle! He pulled himself to his feet and squealed, digging his hooves into the frozen ground and pulling against his chains.
The paladins stood in front, taking every blow with nary a dent. Stalkinghoof and Durkham went to the flanks, shooting with such ferocity that some of the dwarves didn't even dare poke a head out for fear of losing it. Lailya, Dispaya, and the mages called down the frozen air itself, whipping snow and fire through the town. Thanuist and Coranda spurred the Tribe on, healing each wound before it could bleed. Whille the rogues "took care of business" in their own subtle way. If the attack hadn't been such a surprise, the dwarves might have stood a chance, but Ironsong struck like the wrath of the Earthmother herself.

The dwarf grabbed Snuffletusk's chain and whipped it off its hook, just as the little orc girl rounded the corner of the inn. Seeing easy prey, he eased up on the lead and shouted "Go get 'er, boy!" His last words before the boar gored him off his feet and the girl landed three arrows in his chest.
Donalzan, seeing Anca with the boar, shouted for the retreat, and the Tribe pulled back to the edge of the plateau, their mounts waiting anxiously. They were soon airborne again, all hands taking the wing. Barely two minutes from when the paladin's feet hit snow, and the dwarves were lucky most had been left alive by the mercy of the Tribe's stunning blows. Donalzan looked back to make sure all had made it out, noting that in the distance, the support defenders had only now come into view on their own gryphons, far too late.

That evening, after much celebration in the Guild Hall, Anca put a blanket over the boar and lay down with her head on his side. Snuffletusk welcomed the scent of home. Before he went to sleep, he glanced around at the the Ironsong Tribe, still drinking, eating, and singing. He let out a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes and felt the weight of the little orc girl leaning against him. "With friends like these," he thought, "it is always a good day to be a boar."

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