10-17-2009, 12:52 AM
<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.
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.
