Do I really need to link parts I, II, & III?
* * * * *
The hot, dusty air of the Barrens burned Kwazimoto's lungs as he drew each laboring breath, but his legs? His legs ached and his calf muscles screamed at him to stop running, but his ankle? His ankle throbbed from when it had rolled under him as stepped into the Prairie Rat hole, but his heart? His heart beat like it was fit to burst, and the pounding in his ears sounded like the war drums of the Horde.
The Horde: the very reason why he couldn't stop running.
"Stop!" yelled a guttural voice from behind him. "We'll make it quick!"
Kwazi kept running, east, towards Ratchet. He hoped towards Ratchet. It had to be this way. This was the way the signs had pointed. If it wasn't this way, well, Kwazi didn't want to think about that, so he did the only thing he could do; run.
When he'd seen the sign posts earlier, pointing south towards Crossroads and the Goblin village of Ratchet, Kwazimoto hadn't realized he'd actually pass so close to the Horde town. In retrospect, it made perfect sense, given the town's name. It was called Crossroads, so logically it should be at a crossroad. And it was. On the crossroad leading to Ratchet!
Fortunately for Kwazi, despite the entire town seeing him pass by, they'd chosen to do nothing but point and laugh at the young Dwarf. But the hunting party was another story. Made up of a few young Orc Hunters all eager to earn their first coup, they had given chase. More fortunate was that being so young, none of the Hunters had achieved riding status in the tribe so they were all on foot, just like Kwazi. And being young, none of them were armed with anything more than training bows, strung loose to force young Hunters to learn to get close to their prey to make their shot count. And yet some of the arrows fired from those bows had still come dangerously close to Kwazi. Simple bows they may be, but these young Hunters knew how to use them.
"Come on! Faster!" he heard one of the Orcs behind him say. "He's gonna get...to Ratchet...if we don't...catch him! Faster!"
So it was this way. That little bit of knowledge buoyed him up, and Kwazi felt his second wind, or was it his third? Who cares! Run!
Don't...Stop!
Don't...Stop!
Don't...Stop!
He ignored the pain in his body, the pain of his body. It hurt! His whole body hurt!
No! Stop that. It doesn't hurt. Keep running. He heard Raene's voice, urging him on, and so on he ran.
The ground gradually sloped down, and he could smell salt on the air. Ahead, far ahead, so close, but still so far away, the white capped waves of the ocean beckoned him. Ratchet. He could see Ratchet. So close.
Keep running. Keep running. Keep running!
Shhhhooonk!
An arrow struck the road just ahead of him and Kwazi stumbled and almost fell. He managed to catch himself before he plowed face first into the road, and being bent over at the waist, with arms and legs churning as he fought to keep his balance, actually saved him.
Shhhhooonk!
He felt the wind of the second arrow as it passed above his bowed head.
"That one would have hit me square in the back," Kwazi thought to himself, perhaps a little too calmly given the situation. The Dwarf managed to straighten up without slowing down or losing his balance, and with arms and legs pumping he flew down the road with the hunting party still giving chase.
"Sttoooopppp!!!" came a yell from behind him.
"Pigs!" thought Kwazi to himself, as he ran into Ratchet and finally collapsed next to a Goblin Bruiser standing watch at the Pier. But the yell wasn't meant for Kwazi. As he rolled over and looked back he saw one Orc had followed him into Ratchet. The young Hunter stood barely a few ten-feet away. His bow was drawn, and a wickedly barbed hunting arrow was nocked and at the ready. The Orc's chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, but Kwazi noted the arrow's point barely wavered. The young Orc was obviously winded from the chase, yet he was also clearly capable of still making an accurate shot. Kwazi was impressed.
"Thrag! No! Don't!" yelled one of the other Hunters. Unlike Thrag, the rest of the hunting party had all stopped short of what had to be Ratchet's border. "Neutral ground, Thrag! Neutral ground! Don't!"
Thrag's eyes narrowed and his breathing slowed. "Bastard dwarf," he snarled at Kwazi, and released the arrow, which struck the shield the Goblin Bruiser had lowered in front of him. There was a muffled thump, and when the Bruiser lifted his shield Kwazi saw Thrag's unconscious body was now entwined in a net and being carried off to Ratchet's makeshift prison.
"Damn it, Thrag," said the earlier speaker, "told you to stop. Never bloody listen. Pop is gonna love this one. Well, Dwarf," he said - Kwazi raised his head - "You can run. Yeah, you sure can run, but you can't hide!"
"Oh, you'd be surprised," replied Kwazimoto, "I can hide pretty well when I need to."
The Orc laughed. "Good hunting to you, Dwarf!" he said, thumping his fist against his chest.
"Good hunting to you, Orc," Kwazi replied, returning the salute. "May Orion guide your arrows to their target."
The Orc stared at Kwazi for several long seconds, before smiling - It was probably meant to be a friendly smile, but tusks and a mouthful of fangs don't make for very friendly smiles - then he nodded his head, turned, and as one the Orcs began running back towards the Crossroads. Not walking, not jogging, but running. Kwazi smiled and shook his head in wonder. They breed them tough out here in the Barrens, he thought. Now, where's that Inn? I need a drink.
* * *
Kwazi had to admit, fishing off Ratchet's pier was extremely relaxing. Each day two ships sailed from Ratchet to Booty Bay, one in the morning, and one in the early evening. Most folks chose to ride the one in the evening because it allowed them to sleep during the trip and wake at Booty Bay in the morning, but there were still a few folks that sailed out on the morning ship.
For almost a ten-day Kwazi had done nothing but fish off the pier. Fish, and wait for the right ship, although it would be more accurate to say he was waiting for the right passengers. Kwazi needed a morning ship to set sail with absolutely no Horde on board. Alliance would be fine, but not Horde, not for what he had in mind. Chatting with the Goblin sailors Kwazi had established that as they sailed out of Ratchet, their ship passed fairly close to the Echo Isles. Rather than approach the Isles by land, via Durotar, and pass dangerously close to Orgrimmar, Kwazi was choosing to go by sea. Dwarves can swim, they just prefer not to, not if they can avoid it. But when the need arises or their life depends on it Dwarves have been known to swim short distances very, very quickly.
Kwazi needed a morning ship with no Horde passengers, because any Horde warrior worth their salt would pursue a member of the Alliance jumping ship so close to Orgrimmar. And so Kwazi sat on the pier, and fished, and waited. Hunters are very, very good at waiting. If they weren't, they wouldn't be Hunters, and Kwazi was a very good Hunter, which is how he could sit on the pier for half a ten-day and do nothing but fish. Of those he caught a few small ones were tossed back, a basketful went to the Innkeeper to pay for his lodging, and a handful were smoked as provisions for the future. Kwazi had a special pouch, with heavily greased water-resistant leather, that kept things like tinder, gunpowder, and dried provisions as dry as possible, and he had this pouch stuffed full of smoked fish and some Kodo Jerky the Innkeeper had made, which was actually quite tasty.
Finally the day arrived when the only travelers waiting for the morning ship were a couple of Alliance soldiers, and when the ship set sail it did so with just three passengers. While the two soldiers headed below deck, Kwazi stood on the portside of the ship, and waited. As the wind filled its sails the ship pulled away from Ratchet and Kwazi watched the mountains slide by. It was when the ship started turning more and more to the south, away from the mountains, that Kwazi made his move and jumped.
It was not a graceful entry and it was not a masterful stroke that propelled Kwazi through the water, but it was effective, and after several long minutes he was able to stand up in chest high water. With the hills rising almost straight up out of the water, Kwazi had no choice but to begin slowly wading east, towards the Echo Isles, but when they finally came into view, so, too, did a Troll fishing village.
Fortunately for Kwazi most of the Trolls of Sen'jin Village had long since headed north to Orgrimmar, to serve Thrall, so on this morning only a couple of Trolls were about, and none were looking towards the ocean. They certainly weren't expecting a Dwarf to be wading up the coast from Ratchet, so Kwazi was able to start swimming across to the largest of the Isles without being seen.
When he finally made shore he unwrapped his water-resistant pack and took out several pieces of fish. The grease had done its job, and unlike Kwazi, the fish had not been affected by their prolonged exposure to the water. As Kwazi slowly chewed one piece he felt his strength return, but it was the Innkeeper's Kodo Jerky that sealed the deal and Kwazi felt ready to take on the world. Although for now, an Echo Isles' Tiger would have to do.
As Kwazi stood up to go searching for his Tiger he realized one had already found him. Maybe it was the aroma of smoked fish, perhaps the Kodo Jerkey, or possibly just the strange scent of wet Dwarf that drew it out of the cover of the jungle. Whatever it was the Tiger only had eyes for Kwazimoto, and Hunter and Beast stopped and stared each other down.
It was the Tiger that made the first move, as it had to, for Kwazimoto's role in this play was simple; stand firm against the Tiger, and make it see that its attacks were futile. Kwazimoto had to be the dominant one, the stronger of the two. He had to be Alpha, and the Tiger had to be made to realize that.
As the Tiger charged in Kwazi did nothing but stand his ground, meet its gaze, and stare it down. The Tiger crossed the distance between them in a heart beat, but under Kwazi's unwavering gaze it balked, and swerved away. The Tiger made a huge circle back to its starting point where it stopped and looked at the Dwarf, clearly confused.
Wasn't this prey? It smelled like prey. Then why didn't it act like prey? Why didn't it turn and run? With a snarl it leaped at the Dwarf a second time, and again Kwazi stood his ground, and once more the Tiger checked its attack and turned away. Again it made another large circle and finished up back where it had started.
Kwazi glared at the Tiger which now really wasn't sure what was going on. This creature clearly smelled like fish, and something else delicious, but it didn't act like prey. So if it wasn't prey, it was competition for prey. It was competition! The Tiger turned and made one last charge, coming right up to the Dwarf where it drew back a huge paw with wicked claws extended and...it made its last mistake; it looked up into the Dwarf's face.
Kwazimoto stared back into the Tiger's amber eyes, barely a couple of feet from his own. He could see every whisker on its face, and smell the last meal on its breath. He stared into the Tiger's eyes and the Tiger finally realized this was not prey, and it wasn't competition; this was Alpha, its Alpha. The Tiger lowered its paw, rolled over, and offered its belly to its Alpha.
Kwazimoto let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and took out a second piece of smoked fish, but instead of offering it to the Tiger he took a huge bite and chewed with gusto. The Tiger whined and looked longingly at the fish, until it caught Kwazi's stern stare. The whining stopped and it lowered its gaze.
Kwazi took out the third piece of fish and took another huge bite, and only then did he offer the remainder of this piece to the Tiger. Slowly, carefully, it took the offered fish from his hand, then swallowed it whole and looked up expectantly.
More?
"No."
While it may not have known the word, the tone was quite clear, and the Tiger immediately understood that it only got food from its new Alpha when it was offered, and not before. Still, no harm in asking, right?
"No!
Ok, fine. No more food just yet. So, what do we do now? Where are we going?
"Well, Tiger," said Kwazi, "I probably should have thought this crazy idea of mine through a little better, because I have no clue how we're getting back to Dun Murogh."
The Tiger looked up at him, and like Tigers sometimes do, gave an amused woof.
Kwazi gave its head a rough pat. "You're a fat lot of good, aren't you? Then again, I guess I'm not much better. You know what, Tiger? I didn't see Durotar on the way over. I guess we could go back that way, through the Barrens, and head back up to Ashenvale. I know a pretty Elf there who'd like to meet you. What do you say, Tiger?"
The Tiger had no clue what its Alpha had just said, but it knew it was being asked a question and it gave another woof.
"Good answer, Tiger," said Kwazimoto. "Let's go."
* * * * *
To be continued? I don't know. Maybe. If you never read it, there is one more Kwazimoto story, where he faces down Klinfran the Crazed, the Burning Steppes demon who's part of the old level 60 Epic Hunter quest. You can find it here.
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Becoming the Hunter, part III
In case you missed them, click here for Part I, and here for Part II
* * * * *
With resounding roars from rider and mount alike the Horde raiders swept into Astranaar. A huge Tauren warrior riding a giant Kodo had point, and his massive beast crashed into the two Night Elf Sentinels stationed at the eastern bridge, sending them flying into the air. In a clear display of the Elves' legendary dexterity one of the Sentinels drew her bow and loosed an arrow while still in midair. It was an impressive shot, considering the Sentinel was upside down at the time, even if the arrow did nothing more than glance off the Tauren's plated helm.
The Tauren's two companions rode in behind him, and as one all three wheeled their mounts around then leaped off and prepared for battle. A few arcane words from the Orc Shaman saw lightning spark and flash from the head of his mace, while small balls of lightning appeared from thin air and began to swirl and dance around him.
The dark robed figure behind the Orc hissed, then muttered something Kwazimoto didn't catch, but the hair on his neck stood up as an unholy stench swept his way. A shimmer appeared in the air beside the Warlock, not unlike a heat wave, then a giant, armored figure slowly appeared in what was obviously a rift to another dimension. As the demon materialized it bellowed, "Who dares summon me?!"
"A Felguard!" gasped Raene Wolfrunner, who stood watching with Kwazimoto. "These are strong opponents indeed, young Dwarf. Best you stay back and leave this fight to us. Come, Dagri! To battle!"
As Night Elves rushed from the buildings to defend their tiny home in the middle of the Ashenvale forest, Dagri, Raene's wolf, darted in and started harassing the Warlock. Raene herself fired several arrows in quick succession, and although all found their mark they seemed to do little more than attract the attention of the Felguard, which turned and charged her position.
Raene pulled another arrow from her quiver and said something in Elvish that Kwazi didn't catch, but he was duly impressed when a spiderweb pattern of light began flickering up and down the arrow's shaft. The Hunter fired the arrow at the fast approaching Felguard, and Kwazi gasped as the shaft buried itself in the ground between the demon's feet. She missed? How? And then the arrow exploded into thin filaments of light that wrapped around the Felguard's legs and brought it crashing to the ground, immobile.
Raene drew another arrow, muttered some more words in Elvish, then launched this arrow towards the Horde raiders. Almost as soon as it left her bow the shaft split into three separate arrows, with each seeking one of the three raiders.
The Felguard climbed back to its feet, shook itself free of the last of the magical net, then resumed its lumbering run towards Raene. The Hunter fired her next arrow straight into the Felguard's face while shouting yet another Elvish word, but this was a word Kwazi did know, because Raene had taught it to him that very morning.
Scattershot!
The arrow exploded in the Felguard's face, stunning it, and for several seconds it wandered aimlessly on wobbly, unsteady legs. That was all the time Dagri needed to return to Raene's side and begin worrying at the Felguard, which forgot the Warlock's earlier orders and focused all its attention on the wolf. Kwazimoto heard the Warlock curse but the distance between the Warlock and its minion was too great. The Felguard ignored its master's orders and concentrated on trying to strike the elusive wolf that kept snapping at its legs.
While Dagri kept the Felguard occupied, Raene launched arrow after arrow at the raiders, which is when Kwazi noticed something not quite right. His keen eyes had caught movement where none should have been. What was that? Tusks? And was that...a dagger? As if a spell had been broken a young Troll appeared in front of him, creeping towards Raene. Clearly it was unaware it had been spotted, for it continued its deliberately slow movements towards the Elven Hunter. In fact Kwazi found his attention start to wander and it took all of his willpower to focus on where he knew the Troll was, and not "Look away! You don't see me!"
Kwazi shook his head. Was this how they did it? He'd heard of the Rogues' uncanny ability to disappear in broad daylight; how they could apparently stand out in the open and not be seen. Was it some kind of learned magic by which they forced any observers to look away, to literally not see the Rogue standing right in front of them?
"I see you," Kwazi told himself. "I SEE YOU!!!"
There! Creeping around to get behind Raene! There it was! Kwazi shouldered his rifle, took careful aim, and squeezed the trigger.
Ka-Boom!
Raene spun at the sound to see the young Troll collapse in a heap beside her, still holding a wicked dagger tightly in each hand. She looked over at Kwazi to thank him, then her eyes widened and her focus switched from his face to over his shoulder.
"Bastard!" hissed a voice in Kwazi's ear as something slammed into his lower back. Then came a second searing pain higher up. And then he felt nothing at all.
The last thing Kwazi saw was Raene launching another arrow straight at him. No, not at him. Over his head. He heard her yell something in Elvish. He knew that word. What was it again? Oh yeah. Scattershot. Then his world went black.
* * *
Kwazi's head hadn't felt like this for a long time. Not since the morning after he and Jarven tried to drink every last keg of Thunder Ale in the Kharanos Inn. Actually, now that he thought about it, that still hadn't been as bad as he felt now. Just how much had he had to drink this time? He hoped Jarven felt even worse, because he just knew his old friend was behind this horrific hangover.
Slowly and carefully he cracked open one eye lid, expecting to be blinded by the fire in his room at the Kharanos Inn, but there was no fire. And this wasn't Kharanos. So where was he? And why was everything so green? Kwazi opened both eyes, and one of the most musical voices he'd ever heard cautioned him to take it easy.
An elf? Oh yeah. It all came flooding back to him.
The Druid who kept yawning and muttering something about the Emerald Dream, who had asked Kwazi to escort him from Auberdine to a giant tree-like demi-god in some outdoor temple.
Another Hunter - this one an Elf - and his bear companion. Kwazi got the feeling traveling with them that while two was company, three was definitely a crowd. He remembered parting ways, with the Elf saying he was going to investigate a Furbolg camp.
Then there was Astranaar, and Raene Wolfrunner, and...the Horde! And the young Troll Rogue that he'd shot, only to be ambushed by...another Rogue?
Kwazi tried to sit up and pain shot through his body, from two points in his back, to be precise. Again the musical voice cautioned him to take it easy before calling out, "Raene! He's awake!"
A tall, lithe body blocked the light of the doorway for a second as Raene stepped inside the hut. "Don't try to get up just yet, Kwazi," she told him. "You got that first Troll, but his brother got you."
"I thought I was a goner" said the Dwarf.
"You were," said the owner of the musical voice, "but you seem to have made some interesting friends in your short life, Hunter. Although Dwarves were never meant to walk the Emerald Dream, it sounds like you are one who has. When Raene brought you to me you were so pale that I thought you were already lost to us. But as we lay you down you gasped, then uttered the name of a powerful Druid. 'Kerlonian Evershade! What are you doing here?' you said, and that was when I knew you still had a chance. Oh, I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I am Tra'onna Evershade, daughter of Kerlonian. It is a pleasure to meet you, Kwazimoto."
Kwazi finally managed to sit up but decided against trying to stand just yet. Instead he bowed his head and said, "Well met, Tra'onna Evershade, daughter of Kerlonian Evershade. I am Kwazi'Moto, son of Kozi'Moto, son of Quasi'Moto, and I am honored to meet you."
Tra'onna laughed. "And I am glad we were able to meet, Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto. I've heard the Dwarves are legendary for two things in particular. Their sturdy constitution and," she smiled to show she meant no malice, "their stubbornness, and it appears both traits have served you well these past few days. Yes," she said, noting the shock on Kwazi's face, "it's been half a ten-day since we were last attacked, but given the severity of the wounds you suffered, I'm amazed to see you awake so soon. Still, I don't think you're ready to resume your hunt just yet, Kwazi'moto."
Kwazi would have liked to have argued otherwise but he was forced to admit Tra'onna was right, especially as the room had been slowly spinning ever since he sat up. "I think...I'd like something to eat," he said, "then...maybe I'll take another nap, if you don't mind."
"How could I object to such a polite request, Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto," laughed Tra'onna, as she prepared a bowl of broth for him. "Here. I think you will find this surprisingly satisfying, for a simple bowl of broth."
Kwazi took the offered bowl of what appeared to be little more than hot water, but Tra'onna was right. A delicious aroma filled his nostrils, the broth filled his stomach, and within seconds of draining the bowl Kwazi felt his mind grow heavy and he carefully lay back down on the woven grass mat.
"Sleep, Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto," sang Tra'onna. "Sleep. Your body needs to rest to heal. Sleep."
* * *
Kwazi spent many more ten-days in Astranaar before Tra'onna felt he was strong enough to continue his journey. During that time he studied under Raene, and the Dwarf learned what being a Hunter means to the Night Elves. Although both the Dwarves and the Night Elves produced Hunters, there were distinct differences between the two races, and Kwazi realized they each could learn a lot from the other.
He also learned a lot more about the Horde, as it seemed not a single ten-day could go by without raiders attacking Astranaar at least once. Kwazi learned that in the center of the Barrens was a Horde town known simply as the Crossroads. Raene told the Dwarf that just as the Horde frequently attacked Astranaar, so, too, did soldiers of the Alliance almost constantly raid the Crossroads.
"If one was in retaliation for the other," she said, "then it was so long ago that nobody remembers who was the initial aggressor. Now they attack us, we attack them, and the circle continues. Aren't you familiar with a similar situation in your own Eastern Kingdoms?"
Kwazi was forced to admit that his knowledge of almost anywhere outside Dun Murogh was severely lacking.
"In the land known as Hillsbrad," Raene continued, "to the north of Ironforge, there are two towns, one Alliance, one Horde. Located so closely together they are almost constantly at war." The Night Elf shook her head sadly. "Many battles have been fought there, many heroes slain, and much blood soaks the fields between these two towns. We attack them, they attack us, and the circle continues."
They were definitely words to ponder, Kwazi thought to himself, and something to keep in mind if he was to return from this journey. Clearly not all lands were as safe as Dun Murogh, while some appeared to never know peace at all. He would need to be especially careful when he ventured south into the Barrens. If the Alliance harassed the Crossroads as often as Astranaar had been raided these past few ten-days, Kwazi knew the Horde of the Barrens would not hesitate to attack a solitary Dwarf trespassing on their land.
But it was not just the Barrens that Kwazi must pass through, but Durotar itself. Named after Thrall's father and home to the Orc capital of Orgrimmar, Kwazi knew that the greatest test of his abilities was still yet to come.
But somewhere south of here a Tiger called his name, and Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto, had no choice but to find it.
(Continued in part IV)
* * * * *
I've added something a little personal to this story, that being Kwazimoto's lineage.
When my father retired in the early '90s, one of the things that occupied his free time was playing the Forgotten Realms computer games on my old Commodore 64. Differing from WoW and other MMOs of today, these single-player games required the player to create and manage a full party of adventurers. My father could play through them again and again, creating new parties each time, but there was always one constant to each party; they would all include a Dwarf named after Victor Hugo's famous hunchback, Quasimodo, and the spelling of Kwazi's father's name was one of my father's favorite choices.
Later when my father played AD&D the character he naturally chose was a Dwarf, which he named Kozimoto, of course. One of the goals he had for Kozimoto was to have a wolf as a Pet, and he was delighted the day I DM'd a small adventure where I allowed his Dwarf to buy a baby wolf from a traveling vendor.
When I began playing WoW in April 2005, neither Kwazimoto nor the Hunter were my first characters. I actually rolled a human Paladin, but after playing for the evening I wasn't too enamored with the experience. I brought the manual to work with me the next day to read on the bus (yes, I actually RTFM ;) and something about the Hunter, particularly the Dwarf Hunter, appealed to me. When I got home I rolled my new character and while debating a name decided that like my father, I'd go with a play on Quasimodo. As Dad would frequently go with Kozimoto, I chose Kwazimoto, being not just a play on Quasimodo, but also Quasi as in similar to my father.
My Dad would have loved WoW and without a doubt he would have played a Hunter. And with me living in the U.S it would have been a great way for us to stay in touch, except for one small problem. Dad died in March 2005, just one month before I started playing.
I actually rolled a Kozimoto, for Dad, but there was something about doing that which felt wrong and I deleted that character. But Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto, son of Quasi'moto, lives on (even if I don't play any more ;)
* * * * *
With resounding roars from rider and mount alike the Horde raiders swept into Astranaar. A huge Tauren warrior riding a giant Kodo had point, and his massive beast crashed into the two Night Elf Sentinels stationed at the eastern bridge, sending them flying into the air. In a clear display of the Elves' legendary dexterity one of the Sentinels drew her bow and loosed an arrow while still in midair. It was an impressive shot, considering the Sentinel was upside down at the time, even if the arrow did nothing more than glance off the Tauren's plated helm.
The Tauren's two companions rode in behind him, and as one all three wheeled their mounts around then leaped off and prepared for battle. A few arcane words from the Orc Shaman saw lightning spark and flash from the head of his mace, while small balls of lightning appeared from thin air and began to swirl and dance around him.
The dark robed figure behind the Orc hissed, then muttered something Kwazimoto didn't catch, but the hair on his neck stood up as an unholy stench swept his way. A shimmer appeared in the air beside the Warlock, not unlike a heat wave, then a giant, armored figure slowly appeared in what was obviously a rift to another dimension. As the demon materialized it bellowed, "Who dares summon me?!"
"A Felguard!" gasped Raene Wolfrunner, who stood watching with Kwazimoto. "These are strong opponents indeed, young Dwarf. Best you stay back and leave this fight to us. Come, Dagri! To battle!"
As Night Elves rushed from the buildings to defend their tiny home in the middle of the Ashenvale forest, Dagri, Raene's wolf, darted in and started harassing the Warlock. Raene herself fired several arrows in quick succession, and although all found their mark they seemed to do little more than attract the attention of the Felguard, which turned and charged her position.
Raene pulled another arrow from her quiver and said something in Elvish that Kwazi didn't catch, but he was duly impressed when a spiderweb pattern of light began flickering up and down the arrow's shaft. The Hunter fired the arrow at the fast approaching Felguard, and Kwazi gasped as the shaft buried itself in the ground between the demon's feet. She missed? How? And then the arrow exploded into thin filaments of light that wrapped around the Felguard's legs and brought it crashing to the ground, immobile.
Raene drew another arrow, muttered some more words in Elvish, then launched this arrow towards the Horde raiders. Almost as soon as it left her bow the shaft split into three separate arrows, with each seeking one of the three raiders.
The Felguard climbed back to its feet, shook itself free of the last of the magical net, then resumed its lumbering run towards Raene. The Hunter fired her next arrow straight into the Felguard's face while shouting yet another Elvish word, but this was a word Kwazi did know, because Raene had taught it to him that very morning.
Scattershot!
The arrow exploded in the Felguard's face, stunning it, and for several seconds it wandered aimlessly on wobbly, unsteady legs. That was all the time Dagri needed to return to Raene's side and begin worrying at the Felguard, which forgot the Warlock's earlier orders and focused all its attention on the wolf. Kwazimoto heard the Warlock curse but the distance between the Warlock and its minion was too great. The Felguard ignored its master's orders and concentrated on trying to strike the elusive wolf that kept snapping at its legs.
While Dagri kept the Felguard occupied, Raene launched arrow after arrow at the raiders, which is when Kwazi noticed something not quite right. His keen eyes had caught movement where none should have been. What was that? Tusks? And was that...a dagger? As if a spell had been broken a young Troll appeared in front of him, creeping towards Raene. Clearly it was unaware it had been spotted, for it continued its deliberately slow movements towards the Elven Hunter. In fact Kwazi found his attention start to wander and it took all of his willpower to focus on where he knew the Troll was, and not "Look away! You don't see me!"
Kwazi shook his head. Was this how they did it? He'd heard of the Rogues' uncanny ability to disappear in broad daylight; how they could apparently stand out in the open and not be seen. Was it some kind of learned magic by which they forced any observers to look away, to literally not see the Rogue standing right in front of them?
"I see you," Kwazi told himself. "I SEE YOU!!!"
There! Creeping around to get behind Raene! There it was! Kwazi shouldered his rifle, took careful aim, and squeezed the trigger.
Ka-Boom!
Raene spun at the sound to see the young Troll collapse in a heap beside her, still holding a wicked dagger tightly in each hand. She looked over at Kwazi to thank him, then her eyes widened and her focus switched from his face to over his shoulder.
"Bastard!" hissed a voice in Kwazi's ear as something slammed into his lower back. Then came a second searing pain higher up. And then he felt nothing at all.
The last thing Kwazi saw was Raene launching another arrow straight at him. No, not at him. Over his head. He heard her yell something in Elvish. He knew that word. What was it again? Oh yeah. Scattershot. Then his world went black.
* * *
Kwazi's head hadn't felt like this for a long time. Not since the morning after he and Jarven tried to drink every last keg of Thunder Ale in the Kharanos Inn. Actually, now that he thought about it, that still hadn't been as bad as he felt now. Just how much had he had to drink this time? He hoped Jarven felt even worse, because he just knew his old friend was behind this horrific hangover.
Slowly and carefully he cracked open one eye lid, expecting to be blinded by the fire in his room at the Kharanos Inn, but there was no fire. And this wasn't Kharanos. So where was he? And why was everything so green? Kwazi opened both eyes, and one of the most musical voices he'd ever heard cautioned him to take it easy.
An elf? Oh yeah. It all came flooding back to him.
The Druid who kept yawning and muttering something about the Emerald Dream, who had asked Kwazi to escort him from Auberdine to a giant tree-like demi-god in some outdoor temple.
Another Hunter - this one an Elf - and his bear companion. Kwazi got the feeling traveling with them that while two was company, three was definitely a crowd. He remembered parting ways, with the Elf saying he was going to investigate a Furbolg camp.
Then there was Astranaar, and Raene Wolfrunner, and...the Horde! And the young Troll Rogue that he'd shot, only to be ambushed by...another Rogue?
Kwazi tried to sit up and pain shot through his body, from two points in his back, to be precise. Again the musical voice cautioned him to take it easy before calling out, "Raene! He's awake!"
A tall, lithe body blocked the light of the doorway for a second as Raene stepped inside the hut. "Don't try to get up just yet, Kwazi," she told him. "You got that first Troll, but his brother got you."
"I thought I was a goner" said the Dwarf.
"You were," said the owner of the musical voice, "but you seem to have made some interesting friends in your short life, Hunter. Although Dwarves were never meant to walk the Emerald Dream, it sounds like you are one who has. When Raene brought you to me you were so pale that I thought you were already lost to us. But as we lay you down you gasped, then uttered the name of a powerful Druid. 'Kerlonian Evershade! What are you doing here?' you said, and that was when I knew you still had a chance. Oh, I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I am Tra'onna Evershade, daughter of Kerlonian. It is a pleasure to meet you, Kwazimoto."
Kwazi finally managed to sit up but decided against trying to stand just yet. Instead he bowed his head and said, "Well met, Tra'onna Evershade, daughter of Kerlonian Evershade. I am Kwazi'Moto, son of Kozi'Moto, son of Quasi'Moto, and I am honored to meet you."
Tra'onna laughed. "And I am glad we were able to meet, Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto. I've heard the Dwarves are legendary for two things in particular. Their sturdy constitution and," she smiled to show she meant no malice, "their stubbornness, and it appears both traits have served you well these past few days. Yes," she said, noting the shock on Kwazi's face, "it's been half a ten-day since we were last attacked, but given the severity of the wounds you suffered, I'm amazed to see you awake so soon. Still, I don't think you're ready to resume your hunt just yet, Kwazi'moto."
Kwazi would have liked to have argued otherwise but he was forced to admit Tra'onna was right, especially as the room had been slowly spinning ever since he sat up. "I think...I'd like something to eat," he said, "then...maybe I'll take another nap, if you don't mind."
"How could I object to such a polite request, Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto," laughed Tra'onna, as she prepared a bowl of broth for him. "Here. I think you will find this surprisingly satisfying, for a simple bowl of broth."
Kwazi took the offered bowl of what appeared to be little more than hot water, but Tra'onna was right. A delicious aroma filled his nostrils, the broth filled his stomach, and within seconds of draining the bowl Kwazi felt his mind grow heavy and he carefully lay back down on the woven grass mat.
"Sleep, Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto," sang Tra'onna. "Sleep. Your body needs to rest to heal. Sleep."
* * *
Kwazi spent many more ten-days in Astranaar before Tra'onna felt he was strong enough to continue his journey. During that time he studied under Raene, and the Dwarf learned what being a Hunter means to the Night Elves. Although both the Dwarves and the Night Elves produced Hunters, there were distinct differences between the two races, and Kwazi realized they each could learn a lot from the other.
He also learned a lot more about the Horde, as it seemed not a single ten-day could go by without raiders attacking Astranaar at least once. Kwazi learned that in the center of the Barrens was a Horde town known simply as the Crossroads. Raene told the Dwarf that just as the Horde frequently attacked Astranaar, so, too, did soldiers of the Alliance almost constantly raid the Crossroads.
"If one was in retaliation for the other," she said, "then it was so long ago that nobody remembers who was the initial aggressor. Now they attack us, we attack them, and the circle continues. Aren't you familiar with a similar situation in your own Eastern Kingdoms?"
Kwazi was forced to admit that his knowledge of almost anywhere outside Dun Murogh was severely lacking.
"In the land known as Hillsbrad," Raene continued, "to the north of Ironforge, there are two towns, one Alliance, one Horde. Located so closely together they are almost constantly at war." The Night Elf shook her head sadly. "Many battles have been fought there, many heroes slain, and much blood soaks the fields between these two towns. We attack them, they attack us, and the circle continues."
They were definitely words to ponder, Kwazi thought to himself, and something to keep in mind if he was to return from this journey. Clearly not all lands were as safe as Dun Murogh, while some appeared to never know peace at all. He would need to be especially careful when he ventured south into the Barrens. If the Alliance harassed the Crossroads as often as Astranaar had been raided these past few ten-days, Kwazi knew the Horde of the Barrens would not hesitate to attack a solitary Dwarf trespassing on their land.
But it was not just the Barrens that Kwazi must pass through, but Durotar itself. Named after Thrall's father and home to the Orc capital of Orgrimmar, Kwazi knew that the greatest test of his abilities was still yet to come.
But somewhere south of here a Tiger called his name, and Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto, had no choice but to find it.
(Continued in part IV)
* * * * *
I've added something a little personal to this story, that being Kwazimoto's lineage.
When my father retired in the early '90s, one of the things that occupied his free time was playing the Forgotten Realms computer games on my old Commodore 64. Differing from WoW and other MMOs of today, these single-player games required the player to create and manage a full party of adventurers. My father could play through them again and again, creating new parties each time, but there was always one constant to each party; they would all include a Dwarf named after Victor Hugo's famous hunchback, Quasimodo, and the spelling of Kwazi's father's name was one of my father's favorite choices.
Later when my father played AD&D the character he naturally chose was a Dwarf, which he named Kozimoto, of course. One of the goals he had for Kozimoto was to have a wolf as a Pet, and he was delighted the day I DM'd a small adventure where I allowed his Dwarf to buy a baby wolf from a traveling vendor.
When I began playing WoW in April 2005, neither Kwazimoto nor the Hunter were my first characters. I actually rolled a human Paladin, but after playing for the evening I wasn't too enamored with the experience. I brought the manual to work with me the next day to read on the bus (yes, I actually RTFM ;) and something about the Hunter, particularly the Dwarf Hunter, appealed to me. When I got home I rolled my new character and while debating a name decided that like my father, I'd go with a play on Quasimodo. As Dad would frequently go with Kozimoto, I chose Kwazimoto, being not just a play on Quasimodo, but also Quasi as in similar to my father.
My Dad would have loved WoW and without a doubt he would have played a Hunter. And with me living in the U.S it would have been a great way for us to stay in touch, except for one small problem. Dad died in March 2005, just one month before I started playing.
I actually rolled a Kozimoto, for Dad, but there was something about doing that which felt wrong and I deleted that character. But Kwazi'moto, son of Kozi'moto, son of Quasi'moto, lives on (even if I don't play any more ;)
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Becoming the Hunter, part II
Continuing Kwazimoto's story. Part I can be found here.
* * * * *
A trip through the Wetlands would normally have been far more hazardous for a young Dwarf with so few seasons under his belt, except for one thing. As Kwazimoto entered the tunnels of Dun Algaz, he noticed the guards who were charged with holding back any Horde ambitious enough to come down from the north, guards who usually took their jobs very seriously, had huge grins on their faces and in some cases were doubled up with laughter.
"Quick now," one of the guards chuckled to Kwazi as he waved him on through the tunnels. "You'll be fine, if you...you catch up to...them! Ah hah hah hah ha!" The guard couldn't contain his laughter any longer and he held his stomach as tears rolled down his face.
"Hurry now, lad," said another guard with more self control. "If you're quick, you can catch them before you pass through the lower tunnels. Run like the Snow Leopard, son. Go!"
Confused but obedient Kwazi raced through the first tunnel and met more guards, who, like the first, were a lot more jovial than expected. As he emerged from the tunnel they turned with expectant looks on their faces. "Another one? No, it's a young dwarf. Quick, me lad. Run! Catch up to...them! HA ha ha!" And like the earlier guards they also burst out laughing.
Kwazi entered the second tunnel and his speed picked up as he raced down the slope. Ahead of him he could hear a strange sound. High pitched yelps. A lot of them. Like a thousand children crying out with sheer abandonment and exultation.
"Hup! Hup Hup! Hup hup hup! Hup hup! Hup hup hup!"
Kwazi burst out into the second clearing and the sight that met his eyes was one he'd never forget. Were they crazy? Suicidal? Was it a cult of some kind? What in Orion's name was going on?
Why would so many Gnomes strip down to their underwear, then run through the Wetlands? Because clearly Dun Algaz was not their final destination although sadly, for some, it was.
But even as the arrows of the Dragonmaw Orcs brought down their companions the rest of the Gnomes kept running, and now Kwazi realized what the guards had meant. If he stuck with these suicidal gnomes (or whatever they were), as much as the thought churned his belly, their deaths would provide him with safe passage through the Wetlands. Although Kwazi stood a good head and shoulders above his companions, the fact that they were naked, or perhaps just that they were gnomes, drew the ire of the Dragonmaw, and the dwarf passed through the clearing and entered the third tunnel unscathed.
The high pitched yelping of the gnomes echoed unpleasantly off the stone walls and Kwazi tried to pass through the confined space as quickly as he could. But although he shoved and jostled many a gnome as he pushed his way through, not one of them protested at the rough treatment.
"Hup! Hup! Hup hup hup!" was the only sound they made.
Kwazi emerged from the tunnel into the third clearing where the path ahead looped back on itself to enter the final tunnel below. He had no idea how many gnomes were behind him, but clearly there were still a lot more in front. As they ran ahead of him down the slope they jumped and leaped and spun in the air, not unlike sheep in the spring when they're relieved of their wool, which, Kwazi thought to himself, was an all too accurate analogy.
Using his greater size and strength, Kwazi shoved gnomes out of the way as he raced down the path and entered the fourth tunnel, and there ahead of him he thought he finally heard something other than the gnomes' inane, high pitched yelping.
Was that the clip-clopping trot of a Dwarven Battle-Ram?
As he emerged from the final tunnel and entered the damp, fetid heat of the Wetlands, Kwazi saw the front runners of the pack were being led by a Dwarf astride a Ram. The Dwarf was obviously a fellow Hunter, because at his side ran a big cat, a magnificent, heavily muscled beast. White with a slight violet hue to its stripes, it was clearly from Winterspring.
Although surrounded by yelping gnomes the big cat seemed to sense his presence, and it turned and looked straight into Kwazi's eyes. A cold, calculated look that turned Kwazi's blood to ice. Then, just like the tiger of his dreams from the night before, the big cat dismissed him and continued loping along, clearly not bothered by his presence. As if they shared a non-physical connection and an unspoken message had passed between them the Hunter turned and looked back inquisitively, and his face lit up when he saw Kwazimoto.
"Come on up!" he yelled, beckoning to the young Hunter. "It's a little clearer at the front. Less gnomes...for obvious reasons." He grinned, and Kwazi resumed pushing his way through the throng. The gnomes let him pass without saying a word, except for "Hup! Hup! Hup hup hup!" of course.
As Kwazi got closer to the front of the pack he saw what the Dwarf had meant by "obvious reasons". The Wetlands were home to Giant Spiders, Crocalisks, and Raptors, all dangerous beasts to a Dwarf as inexperienced as Kwazi, and equally as dangerous to young gnomes like those around him. Here, a Croc rushed from the water. There, a Raptor emerged from the mist. And with a snap of jaws and a Yelp! they disappeared just as quickly, but not empty handed, or empty-mouthed as it were.
Seeing the shock on Kwazi's face the Dwarf spoke up. "It's just the circle of life, son. I'd expect a fellow Hunter to understand, be a little more in tune with nature. All things must eat, and we're not always at the top of the food chain, you know. Now, don't get too close to the front. See?"
Another Snap! and Yelp! caught his attention and a horrified Kwazi realized it was only the gnomes at the very front who were getting picked off. Now he knew why all those other gnomes had let him through so easily. As long as he or someone else was ahead of them, the Crocs and Raptors would take that person first.
The old Hunter laughed as the young Dwarf, noticing the ranks around him had become dangerously thin, tried to slow down and let a few more Gnomes back in front. But the Gnomes behind Kwazi were a lot less enthusiastic about him falling back than they had been about letting him passed, and Kwazi felt tiny hands shove him forward, keeping him out in front.
Kwazi looked around in panic then realized that while the Raptors and Crocs were taking the young gnomes, they were giving the old Hunter a wide berth. Being animals didn't mean they weren't smart. The Crocs and Raptors knew it was easier, and a lot less riskier, to take the younger, softer, less armored gnomes, than to try for a well armed, clearly dangerous Hunter...or his big cat.
Quickly Kwazi moved over and began running alongside the old Hunter's feline companion, who uttered a single, low, cough of a grunt, but otherwise made no sign he even knew Kwazi was there.
"Smart thinking, young dwarf. We might make a Hunter out of you yet!" the old Hunter said with a laugh, as a snap and a Yelp! saw yet another gnome carried off into the mist.
Kwazi ignored him. He was too busy trying to keep up with the big cat and, more importantly, stay as close to it as possible without making it angry or giving it an excuse to eat him.
Finally, after running for what seemed like hours, the ground underfoot changed from the dirt path of the Wetlands to the wooden planks of a bridge, and ahead of him, somewhere in the mist, Kwazi heard the sounds of civilization.
Horses neighed, hammers rang on metal, ropes creaked and...sailors were singing and gulls were crying. Menethil Harbor! With the end in sight, figuratively more than literally, the Gnomes stepped up the pace and began pushing and shoving each other as they jostled and fought for first place.
A shout came from somewhere ahead of them. "Here they come!"
Cheers went up, the yelps of the gnomes got louder and even more higher pitched, which Kwazimoto hadn't thought possible, and it dawned on him that the countless, senseless deaths he'd witnessed this day, had all been for nothing more than a race.
The gnomes poured across a wide stone bridge and the two Dwarves were literally carried along with them into Menethil Harbor, which quickly became the biggest party town this side of Goldshire.
Later, Kwazimoto joined the old Hunter in the Deepwater Tavern for a drink and a bite to eat.
"You weren't here for the race," the old Hunter said to Kwazimoto. "So, what brings you to Menethil Harbor?"
"I'm just passing through," Kwazi replied. "I...had a dream last night," he said, deciding to confide in the old Dwarf. Surely a fellow Hunter should understand. "I had my final lessons yesterday, and I tamed a Leopard, and a Bear, and a Wolf, then I sent them all away. None of them felt right. Then in my dream last night I fought beside a Tiger...and...I knew it was the one."
"Aye, that's how some of us know," the old Hunter nodded, then took a long pull from his mug that left his mustache covered in white foam. "Some Hunters are happy to grab the first Beast they come across. But others...others like you, they want the right companion. And they're never happy until they find it...or it finds them." He winked at Kwazi, "Like yer Tiger found you. Aye. You'll make a good Hunter, I can see that. Now if you'll excuse me," the old Hunter drained his Mug then slammed it down onto the table, "It's been a long day, herding gnomes from Coldridge Valley all the way out here. I'm going to get some shut-eye. But I think that bell means your ride to Auberdine is getting ready to set sail. Better hurry, young Hunter. Be seeing ya!"
And with that the old Dwarf turned and headed upstairs, accompanied by his big cat that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. And if anyone had any objections to the animal being in the Inn, nobody was prepared to voice them.
Kwazi smiled to himself, tossed a few coins down on the table, then shouldered his pack and slipped outside. As he made his way out onto the pier he saw the old Hunter had been correct. The ship to Auberdine was already loaded and the crew were making their last preparations as Kwazi trotted on board and was directed to his cabin. The ship would sail through the night and in the morning, when he woke, Kwazi would find himself in Auberdine, on the north-west coast of Kalimdor. But even there, as far as Auberdine was from Ironforge and the hills of Dun Murogh, Kwazi's journey to find his tiger companion would still be far from over.
(Click here for part III)
* * * * *
A trip through the Wetlands would normally have been far more hazardous for a young Dwarf with so few seasons under his belt, except for one thing. As Kwazimoto entered the tunnels of Dun Algaz, he noticed the guards who were charged with holding back any Horde ambitious enough to come down from the north, guards who usually took their jobs very seriously, had huge grins on their faces and in some cases were doubled up with laughter.
"Quick now," one of the guards chuckled to Kwazi as he waved him on through the tunnels. "You'll be fine, if you...you catch up to...them! Ah hah hah hah ha!" The guard couldn't contain his laughter any longer and he held his stomach as tears rolled down his face.
"Hurry now, lad," said another guard with more self control. "If you're quick, you can catch them before you pass through the lower tunnels. Run like the Snow Leopard, son. Go!"
Confused but obedient Kwazi raced through the first tunnel and met more guards, who, like the first, were a lot more jovial than expected. As he emerged from the tunnel they turned with expectant looks on their faces. "Another one? No, it's a young dwarf. Quick, me lad. Run! Catch up to...them! HA ha ha!" And like the earlier guards they also burst out laughing.
Kwazi entered the second tunnel and his speed picked up as he raced down the slope. Ahead of him he could hear a strange sound. High pitched yelps. A lot of them. Like a thousand children crying out with sheer abandonment and exultation.
"Hup! Hup Hup! Hup hup hup! Hup hup! Hup hup hup!"
Kwazi burst out into the second clearing and the sight that met his eyes was one he'd never forget. Were they crazy? Suicidal? Was it a cult of some kind? What in Orion's name was going on?
Why would so many Gnomes strip down to their underwear, then run through the Wetlands? Because clearly Dun Algaz was not their final destination although sadly, for some, it was.
But even as the arrows of the Dragonmaw Orcs brought down their companions the rest of the Gnomes kept running, and now Kwazi realized what the guards had meant. If he stuck with these suicidal gnomes (or whatever they were), as much as the thought churned his belly, their deaths would provide him with safe passage through the Wetlands. Although Kwazi stood a good head and shoulders above his companions, the fact that they were naked, or perhaps just that they were gnomes, drew the ire of the Dragonmaw, and the dwarf passed through the clearing and entered the third tunnel unscathed.
The high pitched yelping of the gnomes echoed unpleasantly off the stone walls and Kwazi tried to pass through the confined space as quickly as he could. But although he shoved and jostled many a gnome as he pushed his way through, not one of them protested at the rough treatment.
"Hup! Hup! Hup hup hup!" was the only sound they made.
Kwazi emerged from the tunnel into the third clearing where the path ahead looped back on itself to enter the final tunnel below. He had no idea how many gnomes were behind him, but clearly there were still a lot more in front. As they ran ahead of him down the slope they jumped and leaped and spun in the air, not unlike sheep in the spring when they're relieved of their wool, which, Kwazi thought to himself, was an all too accurate analogy.
Using his greater size and strength, Kwazi shoved gnomes out of the way as he raced down the path and entered the fourth tunnel, and there ahead of him he thought he finally heard something other than the gnomes' inane, high pitched yelping.
Was that the clip-clopping trot of a Dwarven Battle-Ram?
As he emerged from the final tunnel and entered the damp, fetid heat of the Wetlands, Kwazi saw the front runners of the pack were being led by a Dwarf astride a Ram. The Dwarf was obviously a fellow Hunter, because at his side ran a big cat, a magnificent, heavily muscled beast. White with a slight violet hue to its stripes, it was clearly from Winterspring.
Although surrounded by yelping gnomes the big cat seemed to sense his presence, and it turned and looked straight into Kwazi's eyes. A cold, calculated look that turned Kwazi's blood to ice. Then, just like the tiger of his dreams from the night before, the big cat dismissed him and continued loping along, clearly not bothered by his presence. As if they shared a non-physical connection and an unspoken message had passed between them the Hunter turned and looked back inquisitively, and his face lit up when he saw Kwazimoto.
"Come on up!" he yelled, beckoning to the young Hunter. "It's a little clearer at the front. Less gnomes...for obvious reasons." He grinned, and Kwazi resumed pushing his way through the throng. The gnomes let him pass without saying a word, except for "Hup! Hup! Hup hup hup!" of course.
As Kwazi got closer to the front of the pack he saw what the Dwarf had meant by "obvious reasons". The Wetlands were home to Giant Spiders, Crocalisks, and Raptors, all dangerous beasts to a Dwarf as inexperienced as Kwazi, and equally as dangerous to young gnomes like those around him. Here, a Croc rushed from the water. There, a Raptor emerged from the mist. And with a snap of jaws and a Yelp! they disappeared just as quickly, but not empty handed, or empty-mouthed as it were.
Seeing the shock on Kwazi's face the Dwarf spoke up. "It's just the circle of life, son. I'd expect a fellow Hunter to understand, be a little more in tune with nature. All things must eat, and we're not always at the top of the food chain, you know. Now, don't get too close to the front. See?"
Another Snap! and Yelp! caught his attention and a horrified Kwazi realized it was only the gnomes at the very front who were getting picked off. Now he knew why all those other gnomes had let him through so easily. As long as he or someone else was ahead of them, the Crocs and Raptors would take that person first.
The old Hunter laughed as the young Dwarf, noticing the ranks around him had become dangerously thin, tried to slow down and let a few more Gnomes back in front. But the Gnomes behind Kwazi were a lot less enthusiastic about him falling back than they had been about letting him passed, and Kwazi felt tiny hands shove him forward, keeping him out in front.
Kwazi looked around in panic then realized that while the Raptors and Crocs were taking the young gnomes, they were giving the old Hunter a wide berth. Being animals didn't mean they weren't smart. The Crocs and Raptors knew it was easier, and a lot less riskier, to take the younger, softer, less armored gnomes, than to try for a well armed, clearly dangerous Hunter...or his big cat.
Quickly Kwazi moved over and began running alongside the old Hunter's feline companion, who uttered a single, low, cough of a grunt, but otherwise made no sign he even knew Kwazi was there.
"Smart thinking, young dwarf. We might make a Hunter out of you yet!" the old Hunter said with a laugh, as a snap and a Yelp! saw yet another gnome carried off into the mist.
Kwazi ignored him. He was too busy trying to keep up with the big cat and, more importantly, stay as close to it as possible without making it angry or giving it an excuse to eat him.
Finally, after running for what seemed like hours, the ground underfoot changed from the dirt path of the Wetlands to the wooden planks of a bridge, and ahead of him, somewhere in the mist, Kwazi heard the sounds of civilization.
Horses neighed, hammers rang on metal, ropes creaked and...sailors were singing and gulls were crying. Menethil Harbor! With the end in sight, figuratively more than literally, the Gnomes stepped up the pace and began pushing and shoving each other as they jostled and fought for first place.
A shout came from somewhere ahead of them. "Here they come!"
Cheers went up, the yelps of the gnomes got louder and even more higher pitched, which Kwazimoto hadn't thought possible, and it dawned on him that the countless, senseless deaths he'd witnessed this day, had all been for nothing more than a race.
The gnomes poured across a wide stone bridge and the two Dwarves were literally carried along with them into Menethil Harbor, which quickly became the biggest party town this side of Goldshire.
Later, Kwazimoto joined the old Hunter in the Deepwater Tavern for a drink and a bite to eat.
"You weren't here for the race," the old Hunter said to Kwazimoto. "So, what brings you to Menethil Harbor?"
"I'm just passing through," Kwazi replied. "I...had a dream last night," he said, deciding to confide in the old Dwarf. Surely a fellow Hunter should understand. "I had my final lessons yesterday, and I tamed a Leopard, and a Bear, and a Wolf, then I sent them all away. None of them felt right. Then in my dream last night I fought beside a Tiger...and...I knew it was the one."
"Aye, that's how some of us know," the old Hunter nodded, then took a long pull from his mug that left his mustache covered in white foam. "Some Hunters are happy to grab the first Beast they come across. But others...others like you, they want the right companion. And they're never happy until they find it...or it finds them." He winked at Kwazi, "Like yer Tiger found you. Aye. You'll make a good Hunter, I can see that. Now if you'll excuse me," the old Hunter drained his Mug then slammed it down onto the table, "It's been a long day, herding gnomes from Coldridge Valley all the way out here. I'm going to get some shut-eye. But I think that bell means your ride to Auberdine is getting ready to set sail. Better hurry, young Hunter. Be seeing ya!"
And with that the old Dwarf turned and headed upstairs, accompanied by his big cat that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. And if anyone had any objections to the animal being in the Inn, nobody was prepared to voice them.
Kwazi smiled to himself, tossed a few coins down on the table, then shouldered his pack and slipped outside. As he made his way out onto the pier he saw the old Hunter had been correct. The ship to Auberdine was already loaded and the crew were making their last preparations as Kwazi trotted on board and was directed to his cabin. The ship would sail through the night and in the morning, when he woke, Kwazi would find himself in Auberdine, on the north-west coast of Kalimdor. But even there, as far as Auberdine was from Ironforge and the hills of Dun Murogh, Kwazi's journey to find his tiger companion would still be far from over.
(Click here for part III)
Monday, February 02, 2009
Becoming the Hunter
A post/story from Pike about her Hunter finding the Raptor she'd set free so long ago prompted me to write this fictional piece about my own Hunter, a Dwarf named Kwazimoto, as he learns the basic skills of the Hunter class, then sets out to find the animal that would become his lifelong companion.
As in Kwazimoto and the Demon, I've used actual names and places from the World of Warcraft to create this story of how Kwazimoto became a Hunter.
* * *
The young Dwarf seemed proud of himself as he trotted up the hill towards Grif Wildheart. The old Hunter looked down at his latest student who, like many of those that had preceded him, now had an Ice Bear cub hot on his heels.
Although just a cub the Ice Bear was still big enough and strong enough to be capable of dispatching a young Dwarf, like the very one which led it to the old Hunter, but the dazed look in the bear’s eyes told Grif it didn't fully understand what had happened to it, or what compelled it to follow the young Hunter who, although half its size, had somehow bent it to his will.
In any Pack there can be only one Alpha, Grif mused to himself, although most folks will look at a pack and say, 'There's the Alpha Male, and his mate, the Alpha Female.' But truth is only one of them is the Alpha. If the Alpha is the Male then the Female is not a true Alpha, for like the rest of the pack she too must bow to the Male, and if the Female is the Alpha, then the Male must submit to her as does the rest of the pack.
Prior to sending his student out, Grif had passed on these words of wisdom: The secret to Taming a Beast is that in each pack there can be only one Alpha. You must challenge the Beast, and stand firm against its attacks. If you stand firm long enough then the Beast has no choice but to concede victory to you. But you must stand firm! The Beast must be made to see that its attacks are futile, for you are stronger, because you are Alpha.
With the dazed Ice Bear cub in tow Grif could see that this young Dwarf...What was his name again? Kawasaki? Kozimodo? Kwazimoto! That was it. This Kwazimoto (strange name for a Dwarf) he had what it took to be a Hunter. He was an Alpha, and the Ice Bear behind him was testament to that.
"Ye've done well, Kwazimoto," said Grif. "Ye've proved yer have a way with animals, and ye've tamed the three beasties just as I asked yer to. Yer well on yer way to becoming a Hunter, but afore you go rushing off, Taming Beast willy nilly, stop by Ironforge first. Ye'll be lookin' to speak to Belia Thundergranite. If she's not in the Military Ward, she'll probably be talking shop with Bretta Goldfury. Actually, it wouldn't hurt for ye to get to know Bretta, either. I've a feeling you'll be wanting to stop by and visit Ms. Goldfury most every time yer in Ironforge." Grif winked at the young and confused Dwarf, before continuing. "Very popular lady with the Hunters, she is. Now, off you go. NO! NOT YOU, YOUNG CUB!"
Grif's voice changed so suddenly, became so powerful, and so commanding, that Kwazi stopped dead in his tracks, as did the Ice Bear cub, which was the real target of Grif's order.
"Yah!" Grif yelled, and both Dwarf and Bear looked up at him in astonishment.
"Gwan! Giddouttaheah!" Grif clapped his hands and the sharp sound was like a peal of thunder to the two mesmerized creatures, and they both took off as fast as their legs could carry them. While the Bear galloped south into the hills, the young Dwarf bolted north out of Kharanos towards Ironforge, Belia Thundergranite, and his next lesson on the road to becoming a Hunter.
* * *
"So ye see, young man," said Belia, "because yer the Alpha, yer companion relies on you. He looks up to you not just for leadership, but for life. He relies on you for food, shelter, and protection. And if yer not going to look after yer animal companion, I've just wasted the better part of three hours with ye, so ye might as well just head on over there to him *snort* and become a warrior." Belia blew through her nose as she shrugged and looked in the direction of Kelv Sternhammer. "How about it? Ye want to mingle with the likes of him? Or do ye want to be a Hunter? Now go! I've taught ye all ye need to know...for now."
* * *
Kwazi sat just outside Steelgrill's Depot, looking down on the Steam Tanks. Although a light snow was falling on him the warm body curled up next to the dwarf kept him quite warm, and his hand absently stroked the Snow Wolf's fur. The Wolf was the third beast Kwazi had befriended this day, but it, like the Bear and the Snow Leopard before it, just didn't feel right. He enjoyed having the animals beside him; he could feel the call of the wild. He knew he was destined to be a Hunter, not a muscle bound oaf of a Warrior, but he needed to find the right animal for him. Kwazi needed his kindred spirit.
"Go, boy!" he ordered the Wolf, and it looked up at him, confused. The Wolf also enjoyed being with the Dwarf, its new Alpha, and the sense of belonging it got from being with the Dwarf gave it a feeling of security it hadn't known while living in the foothills of Dun Morogh. And now its Alpha wanted to send it away? The Wolf looked to where Kwazimoto was pointing and at that instant, a white rabbit burst out of a snow bank and bounded away.
"Go!" Kwazi repeated, and the Wolf's predator instincts took over and it leaped to its feet and began loping after the rabbit. Kwazi watched the chase for several seconds, until both animals disappeared among the swirling snow drifts, then he climbed to his feet and strode off in the opposite direction. Before too long the dark shape of the Kharanos Inn loomed into view, and Kwazi's belly rumbled.
“Time for a big bowl of rabbit stew,” he said to himself, “and maybe a pint or three of Thunder Ale.”
Perhaps his friend Jarven would be in, he could use the company. Perhaps? Kwazi, chuckled to himself. When was Jarven not in the Kharanos Inn? Why, he practically lived off the Inn's Thunder Ale.
Sure enough, Kwazi entered the Inn and a smile creased his face as he heard Jarven's booming voice ring out, "Hey there, Belm! Give me a mug of Thunder Ale, and one for my good friend...Kwazimoto?"
"Better make that two, Belm," laughed Kwazi. "You know how Jarven loves his Thunder Ale."
The two friends sat down at a table in front of the fire, clinked mugs, and Kwazi took a long pull. "Ah, that sure does hit the spot," he said. He lowered his mug to see Jarven pushing another one his way, while looking at Kwazi's half full mug with disgust.
"Come on! Drink up, man!" said Jarven, as he raised his own second mug of Thunder Ale. Kwazi took another long pull, slammed his empty mug down on the table, and heard Jarven call for two more mugs.
"Slow down, Jarven," said Kwazi, "I've not even touched my second mug yet."
"Aye, yer gettin' slow in yer old age, Kwazi." said his friend.
Kwazi gasped. "Old? Who are you calling old? You've got two seasons on me, you old coot!"
"Ha ha, it's good to see you again, Kwazi," laughed Jarven. "So, what brings you back to Kharanos? I didn’t expect to see you for at least another ten-day."
Kwazi explained his morning's actions to his friend. How he'd tamed several beasts but none of them had seemed quite right for him.
"Now this!" stated Jarven. "This sounds like a problem I can help you with! There's no problem too big, or too small, that cannot be solved by a liberal application of more Thunder Ale!" Jarven positively bellowed the last three words, and Belm rushed over to keep his best customer happy.
"Belm," said Kwazi, "bring me a bowl of stew, and some cornbread while you're at it."
"Bah! Stew and cornbread?" snorted Jarven. "What do ya want to go filling your belly with that stuff for, when there's still plenty more Thunder Ale."
Ignoring Jarven, Kwazi continued, "And Belm? A couple of plates of those Boar Ribs, too."
"Now those I can appreciate!" said Jarven. "There's nothing better than me brother's famous Beer Basted Boar Ribs, except maybe..."
Kwazi joined Jarven in finishing his sentence, "...more Thunder Ale!"
The two friends laughed then settled in for an afternoon of eating and drinking, while outside the storm picked up, adding even more snow to the almost constant layer of white powder covering the ground, for in this part of the country it almost always seemed to be snowing, regardless of the time of year.
* * *
It was late into the evening when Kwazi signaled Belm. "I think I'm going to be needing a bed for the night," he said. He smiled at Jarven, who lay asleep with his head on the table, surrounded by dozens of empty, foam-covered mugs. "You'll be paying for that lot in the morning," he said as he stood. The room spun, and he almost sat straight back down again. "Woah! As I will be too!" he added, catching the edge of the table and hanging on for dear life. When the room had stopped spinning Kwazi wobbled off through the kitchen and downstairs, to where a soft bed and a warm fire waited for him.
And with his Hunter lessons still fresh in his mind, is it any surprise that Kwazi's dreams were filled with countless Beasts, all clamoring for his attention? All except one, that is.
As the beasts of his dream pushed around him and fought with each other, one magnificent animal sat back from the rest. And while all the other animals growled and yipped and howled and roared and tried to catch his eye, the one beast that had Kwazi’s undivided attention ignored him, as it licked a huge orange paw and brushed it over one black and orange ear. Then switching paws it washed the other ear. And all the while it ignored the Hunter.
The other animals fell silent, then, as is the way of dreams when you pay them no mind, they vanished. Not with a pop, or a bang, or in a flash of smoke; they simply ceased to be. And then there was just the Hunter, and the Tiger, which stopped washing itself to stare at Kwazi for several, very long seconds, before dismissing him and resuming its bath.
A loud roar from behind the Hunter finally accomplished what he could not. Something behind Kwazi finally had the Tiger's attention.
"Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream," Kwazi told himself, as he tried to will himself awake. But he remained in his dream land. As he stared at the Tiger in front of him he felt the very warm, almost moist air of something breathing down the back of his neck. Literally down. Whatever was behind the Dwarf was tall enough that its hot breath was coming from at least a full foot above his head.
A second roar from behind Kwazi coated the back and top of his head with warm spittle. "What's...behind me...Tiger?" muttered Kwazi. The Tiger looked at Kwazi, then looked up behind him, and from the look in its eyes Kwazi figured whatever was behind him was big. Really big. He reached for his rifle but his dream self appeared to have misplaced it.
And then the Tiger leaped.
Kwazi ducked as the Tiger flew over his head and crashed into the something behind him, which let out more roars. Higher pitched “I'm in pain!” roars. Kwazi turned to discover the ‘something’ was a Raptor. His Tiger had the lizard by the throat, preventing it from bringing its own fearsome jaws into play, but the claws from both animals still raked at each other, and fur and leathery hide was shredded and running with blood.
Kwazi took a step back then raised his rifle to his shoulder. He didn’t ask where it had come from, this was a dream, and these things just are. Pulling his rifle in tight he looked down the barrel, waiting for his shot. The fight in front of him was chaotic and brutal, as both animals twisted and turned trying to gain the upper hand. Despite the blood covering their bodies the Tiger’s black and orange coloring stood out against the iridescent purple sheen of the Raptor, and it was the purple Kwazi needed to focus on.
Not the orange, focus on the purple. That’s where your shot is, he told himself. And then, after several long, agonizing seconds, there it was. For a heartbeat he had a clear shot, but that was all the time he needed. His rifle roared, flame belched from the muzzle, and black smoke obliterated both beasts, and when it finally cleared the Tiger was sitting there, alone, again ignoring Kwazi as it calmly and methodically washed itself.
* * *
Kwazi opened his eyes and sat up. The fire in his room had died down, but the room was still warm. He yawned and stretched and looked around. Some time during the night Jarven had found his way downstairs and into the other bed. Kwazi’s internal clock told him it was early, that the sun was not yet up although dawn was not far away.
As he quietly dressed he thought about the animal in his dream. A Tiger? It was a magnificent beast, and you never saw any of them this far north. Down south, though. In the jungles on the other side of Duskwood, now there be Tigers. But the tigers of Stranglethorn were huge beasts, and Kwazi was just a young Hunter with a lot to learn; he was not yet ready to venture into the Vale.
The only other place Kwazi knew where such tigers could be found was even further away than Stranglethorn. Across the ocean, the Echo Isles off the coast of Durotar was home to a small pride of Tigers. With their island being so small, and with such limited food supply, the tigers of Echo Isles were not as big as their Stranglethorn cousins; they’d be perfect for a young Hunter with the heart of a Tiger.
Kwazi muttered to himself, “I guess it’s time to see Kalimdor, see how the other half lives. Let’s see now. Boat from Menethil Harbor, come down through the Elfs’ lands and into the Barrens. Head down to Ratchet, then slip up the coast to the Echo Isles. Couldn’t be any easier, even if I were a Rogue.”
“Whazzat? Say sumppin?” Jarven mumbled.
“Go back to sleep, old friend. I’ll be seein’ ya later.”
“Hey. Who you callin’ old?” Jarven muttered, even as he rolled over and resumed snoring.
Kwazi slipped quietly from the room and out of the Inn, and headed east, towards the North Gate Pass, to Loch Modan, the Wetlands, and Menethil Harbor, where he’d catch the ship that would take him far from his homeland, and into the wild, Horde-controlled lands of Kalimdor.
Maybe I’ll stop off at Darnassus first, he mused to himself. See what all the fuss is over these Night Elf women. And all over some silly dance they do.
(Click here for part II)
As in Kwazimoto and the Demon, I've used actual names and places from the World of Warcraft to create this story of how Kwazimoto became a Hunter.
* * *
The young Dwarf seemed proud of himself as he trotted up the hill towards Grif Wildheart. The old Hunter looked down at his latest student who, like many of those that had preceded him, now had an Ice Bear cub hot on his heels.
Although just a cub the Ice Bear was still big enough and strong enough to be capable of dispatching a young Dwarf, like the very one which led it to the old Hunter, but the dazed look in the bear’s eyes told Grif it didn't fully understand what had happened to it, or what compelled it to follow the young Hunter who, although half its size, had somehow bent it to his will.
In any Pack there can be only one Alpha, Grif mused to himself, although most folks will look at a pack and say, 'There's the Alpha Male, and his mate, the Alpha Female.' But truth is only one of them is the Alpha. If the Alpha is the Male then the Female is not a true Alpha, for like the rest of the pack she too must bow to the Male, and if the Female is the Alpha, then the Male must submit to her as does the rest of the pack.
Prior to sending his student out, Grif had passed on these words of wisdom: The secret to Taming a Beast is that in each pack there can be only one Alpha. You must challenge the Beast, and stand firm against its attacks. If you stand firm long enough then the Beast has no choice but to concede victory to you. But you must stand firm! The Beast must be made to see that its attacks are futile, for you are stronger, because you are Alpha.
With the dazed Ice Bear cub in tow Grif could see that this young Dwarf...What was his name again? Kawasaki? Kozimodo? Kwazimoto! That was it. This Kwazimoto (strange name for a Dwarf) he had what it took to be a Hunter. He was an Alpha, and the Ice Bear behind him was testament to that.
"Ye've done well, Kwazimoto," said Grif. "Ye've proved yer have a way with animals, and ye've tamed the three beasties just as I asked yer to. Yer well on yer way to becoming a Hunter, but afore you go rushing off, Taming Beast willy nilly, stop by Ironforge first. Ye'll be lookin' to speak to Belia Thundergranite. If she's not in the Military Ward, she'll probably be talking shop with Bretta Goldfury. Actually, it wouldn't hurt for ye to get to know Bretta, either. I've a feeling you'll be wanting to stop by and visit Ms. Goldfury most every time yer in Ironforge." Grif winked at the young and confused Dwarf, before continuing. "Very popular lady with the Hunters, she is. Now, off you go. NO! NOT YOU, YOUNG CUB!"
Grif's voice changed so suddenly, became so powerful, and so commanding, that Kwazi stopped dead in his tracks, as did the Ice Bear cub, which was the real target of Grif's order.
"Yah!" Grif yelled, and both Dwarf and Bear looked up at him in astonishment.
"Gwan! Giddouttaheah!" Grif clapped his hands and the sharp sound was like a peal of thunder to the two mesmerized creatures, and they both took off as fast as their legs could carry them. While the Bear galloped south into the hills, the young Dwarf bolted north out of Kharanos towards Ironforge, Belia Thundergranite, and his next lesson on the road to becoming a Hunter.
* * *
"So ye see, young man," said Belia, "because yer the Alpha, yer companion relies on you. He looks up to you not just for leadership, but for life. He relies on you for food, shelter, and protection. And if yer not going to look after yer animal companion, I've just wasted the better part of three hours with ye, so ye might as well just head on over there to him *snort* and become a warrior." Belia blew through her nose as she shrugged and looked in the direction of Kelv Sternhammer. "How about it? Ye want to mingle with the likes of him? Or do ye want to be a Hunter? Now go! I've taught ye all ye need to know...for now."
* * *
Kwazi sat just outside Steelgrill's Depot, looking down on the Steam Tanks. Although a light snow was falling on him the warm body curled up next to the dwarf kept him quite warm, and his hand absently stroked the Snow Wolf's fur. The Wolf was the third beast Kwazi had befriended this day, but it, like the Bear and the Snow Leopard before it, just didn't feel right. He enjoyed having the animals beside him; he could feel the call of the wild. He knew he was destined to be a Hunter, not a muscle bound oaf of a Warrior, but he needed to find the right animal for him. Kwazi needed his kindred spirit.
"Go, boy!" he ordered the Wolf, and it looked up at him, confused. The Wolf also enjoyed being with the Dwarf, its new Alpha, and the sense of belonging it got from being with the Dwarf gave it a feeling of security it hadn't known while living in the foothills of Dun Morogh. And now its Alpha wanted to send it away? The Wolf looked to where Kwazimoto was pointing and at that instant, a white rabbit burst out of a snow bank and bounded away.
"Go!" Kwazi repeated, and the Wolf's predator instincts took over and it leaped to its feet and began loping after the rabbit. Kwazi watched the chase for several seconds, until both animals disappeared among the swirling snow drifts, then he climbed to his feet and strode off in the opposite direction. Before too long the dark shape of the Kharanos Inn loomed into view, and Kwazi's belly rumbled.
“Time for a big bowl of rabbit stew,” he said to himself, “and maybe a pint or three of Thunder Ale.”
Perhaps his friend Jarven would be in, he could use the company. Perhaps? Kwazi, chuckled to himself. When was Jarven not in the Kharanos Inn? Why, he practically lived off the Inn's Thunder Ale.
Sure enough, Kwazi entered the Inn and a smile creased his face as he heard Jarven's booming voice ring out, "Hey there, Belm! Give me a mug of Thunder Ale, and one for my good friend...Kwazimoto?"
"Better make that two, Belm," laughed Kwazi. "You know how Jarven loves his Thunder Ale."
The two friends sat down at a table in front of the fire, clinked mugs, and Kwazi took a long pull. "Ah, that sure does hit the spot," he said. He lowered his mug to see Jarven pushing another one his way, while looking at Kwazi's half full mug with disgust.
"Come on! Drink up, man!" said Jarven, as he raised his own second mug of Thunder Ale. Kwazi took another long pull, slammed his empty mug down on the table, and heard Jarven call for two more mugs.
"Slow down, Jarven," said Kwazi, "I've not even touched my second mug yet."
"Aye, yer gettin' slow in yer old age, Kwazi." said his friend.
Kwazi gasped. "Old? Who are you calling old? You've got two seasons on me, you old coot!"
"Ha ha, it's good to see you again, Kwazi," laughed Jarven. "So, what brings you back to Kharanos? I didn’t expect to see you for at least another ten-day."
Kwazi explained his morning's actions to his friend. How he'd tamed several beasts but none of them had seemed quite right for him.
"Now this!" stated Jarven. "This sounds like a problem I can help you with! There's no problem too big, or too small, that cannot be solved by a liberal application of more Thunder Ale!" Jarven positively bellowed the last three words, and Belm rushed over to keep his best customer happy.
"Belm," said Kwazi, "bring me a bowl of stew, and some cornbread while you're at it."
"Bah! Stew and cornbread?" snorted Jarven. "What do ya want to go filling your belly with that stuff for, when there's still plenty more Thunder Ale."
Ignoring Jarven, Kwazi continued, "And Belm? A couple of plates of those Boar Ribs, too."
"Now those I can appreciate!" said Jarven. "There's nothing better than me brother's famous Beer Basted Boar Ribs, except maybe..."
Kwazi joined Jarven in finishing his sentence, "...more Thunder Ale!"
The two friends laughed then settled in for an afternoon of eating and drinking, while outside the storm picked up, adding even more snow to the almost constant layer of white powder covering the ground, for in this part of the country it almost always seemed to be snowing, regardless of the time of year.
* * *
It was late into the evening when Kwazi signaled Belm. "I think I'm going to be needing a bed for the night," he said. He smiled at Jarven, who lay asleep with his head on the table, surrounded by dozens of empty, foam-covered mugs. "You'll be paying for that lot in the morning," he said as he stood. The room spun, and he almost sat straight back down again. "Woah! As I will be too!" he added, catching the edge of the table and hanging on for dear life. When the room had stopped spinning Kwazi wobbled off through the kitchen and downstairs, to where a soft bed and a warm fire waited for him.
And with his Hunter lessons still fresh in his mind, is it any surprise that Kwazi's dreams were filled with countless Beasts, all clamoring for his attention? All except one, that is.
As the beasts of his dream pushed around him and fought with each other, one magnificent animal sat back from the rest. And while all the other animals growled and yipped and howled and roared and tried to catch his eye, the one beast that had Kwazi’s undivided attention ignored him, as it licked a huge orange paw and brushed it over one black and orange ear. Then switching paws it washed the other ear. And all the while it ignored the Hunter.
The other animals fell silent, then, as is the way of dreams when you pay them no mind, they vanished. Not with a pop, or a bang, or in a flash of smoke; they simply ceased to be. And then there was just the Hunter, and the Tiger, which stopped washing itself to stare at Kwazi for several, very long seconds, before dismissing him and resuming its bath.
A loud roar from behind the Hunter finally accomplished what he could not. Something behind Kwazi finally had the Tiger's attention.
"Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream," Kwazi told himself, as he tried to will himself awake. But he remained in his dream land. As he stared at the Tiger in front of him he felt the very warm, almost moist air of something breathing down the back of his neck. Literally down. Whatever was behind the Dwarf was tall enough that its hot breath was coming from at least a full foot above his head.
A second roar from behind Kwazi coated the back and top of his head with warm spittle. "What's...behind me...Tiger?" muttered Kwazi. The Tiger looked at Kwazi, then looked up behind him, and from the look in its eyes Kwazi figured whatever was behind him was big. Really big. He reached for his rifle but his dream self appeared to have misplaced it.
And then the Tiger leaped.
Kwazi ducked as the Tiger flew over his head and crashed into the something behind him, which let out more roars. Higher pitched “I'm in pain!” roars. Kwazi turned to discover the ‘something’ was a Raptor. His Tiger had the lizard by the throat, preventing it from bringing its own fearsome jaws into play, but the claws from both animals still raked at each other, and fur and leathery hide was shredded and running with blood.
Kwazi took a step back then raised his rifle to his shoulder. He didn’t ask where it had come from, this was a dream, and these things just are. Pulling his rifle in tight he looked down the barrel, waiting for his shot. The fight in front of him was chaotic and brutal, as both animals twisted and turned trying to gain the upper hand. Despite the blood covering their bodies the Tiger’s black and orange coloring stood out against the iridescent purple sheen of the Raptor, and it was the purple Kwazi needed to focus on.
Not the orange, focus on the purple. That’s where your shot is, he told himself. And then, after several long, agonizing seconds, there it was. For a heartbeat he had a clear shot, but that was all the time he needed. His rifle roared, flame belched from the muzzle, and black smoke obliterated both beasts, and when it finally cleared the Tiger was sitting there, alone, again ignoring Kwazi as it calmly and methodically washed itself.
* * *
Kwazi opened his eyes and sat up. The fire in his room had died down, but the room was still warm. He yawned and stretched and looked around. Some time during the night Jarven had found his way downstairs and into the other bed. Kwazi’s internal clock told him it was early, that the sun was not yet up although dawn was not far away.
As he quietly dressed he thought about the animal in his dream. A Tiger? It was a magnificent beast, and you never saw any of them this far north. Down south, though. In the jungles on the other side of Duskwood, now there be Tigers. But the tigers of Stranglethorn were huge beasts, and Kwazi was just a young Hunter with a lot to learn; he was not yet ready to venture into the Vale.
The only other place Kwazi knew where such tigers could be found was even further away than Stranglethorn. Across the ocean, the Echo Isles off the coast of Durotar was home to a small pride of Tigers. With their island being so small, and with such limited food supply, the tigers of Echo Isles were not as big as their Stranglethorn cousins; they’d be perfect for a young Hunter with the heart of a Tiger.
Kwazi muttered to himself, “I guess it’s time to see Kalimdor, see how the other half lives. Let’s see now. Boat from Menethil Harbor, come down through the Elfs’ lands and into the Barrens. Head down to Ratchet, then slip up the coast to the Echo Isles. Couldn’t be any easier, even if I were a Rogue.”
“Whazzat? Say sumppin?” Jarven mumbled.
“Go back to sleep, old friend. I’ll be seein’ ya later.”
“Hey. Who you callin’ old?” Jarven muttered, even as he rolled over and resumed snoring.
Kwazi slipped quietly from the room and out of the Inn, and headed east, towards the North Gate Pass, to Loch Modan, the Wetlands, and Menethil Harbor, where he’d catch the ship that would take him far from his homeland, and into the wild, Horde-controlled lands of Kalimdor.
Maybe I’ll stop off at Darnassus first, he mused to himself. See what all the fuss is over these Night Elf women. And all over some silly dance they do.
(Click here for part II)
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Getting your fix
A comment over on WWMD about the lengths D&D players will go to get their fix, including trying to play long distance using VOIP tech, inspired me to write this...
DM: Ok, Zygor. Roll to hit, please.
(Sound of dice rolling)
Zygor: Alright! Natural 20!
DM: Again? That's your fifth 20 in a row...not that I'm counting, or accusing you of cheating. But five 20s in a row?
Zygor: Man! I am ON..A..ROLL!!!
DM (sighing): Okay. Fine. Natural 20 it is.
DM (to self): Hmm. Could I? Should I? Yes. Yes, I shall!
DM (out loud): Mwah hah ha!
Zygor: You okay there, man?
DM: Um...er...ahem. Yes. Yeah. Oh, yeah. I'm good. Zygor, because you rolled those five 20s in a row, I need you to make one more throw for me.
Zygor (hesitatingly): Er...okay.
(Sound of dice rolling)
Zygor: It's...a...20?
DM: Are you sure?
Zygor (more confidently): Yep. It's a 20.
DM: Oh. That's too bad. Really. I'm sorry to say this but...
Zygor: Wait! WAIT! My mistake! It's not a 20! It's...a...1?
DM: A 1? You're positive now?
Zygor: Yes! Yes! It's a 1! It's quite clearly a 1! Definitely a 1!
DM: Oh. That's...even worse than the 20. Now not only does your sword break because of how powerful your recent blows have been...
Zygor: It breaks? My sword breaks? Whadda ya mean it breaks? It's a magical sword! It can cut through anything!
DM: Yes, it can, can't it? Which explains why the broken blade so easily penetrates your mithril armor and embeds itself in your stomach. Ooh, that's gotta hurt. Let's see how much.
(Sound of dice rolling)
DM: Oh.
(More dice rolling)
DM: Ooh.
(More dice rolling)
DM: Oh boy. Let's see now...carry the 1...divide by Pi...adjust for the phase of the moon and...Zygor? How much health do you have?
Zygor: Um...158 hit points?
DM: You don't sound too sure.
Zygor: No. No, it's 158. Definitely 158.
DM: That's what I thought too. So, after being stabbed in the belly by your own magical sword you now have 1 hit point left.
Zygor (faintly): 1...hit point...left?
DM: Yep, just the one. Now, as you stand there, dizzily clutching the broken blade protruding from your stomach, your Orc opponent swings his axe and...
(Sound of dice rolling)
DM: Well, whadda ya know? A 20! How about that. Zygor, I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. Zygor? Zygor?
DM (breaking character): Bob? You there, buddy?
Bob (Zygor no longer): I think I'm going to lie down.
DM: Ok, Zygor. Roll to hit, please.
(Sound of dice rolling)
Zygor: Alright! Natural 20!
DM: Again? That's your fifth 20 in a row...not that I'm counting, or accusing you of cheating. But five 20s in a row?
Zygor: Man! I am ON..A..ROLL!!!
DM (sighing): Okay. Fine. Natural 20 it is.
DM (to self): Hmm. Could I? Should I? Yes. Yes, I shall!
DM (out loud): Mwah hah ha!
Zygor: You okay there, man?
DM: Um...er...ahem. Yes. Yeah. Oh, yeah. I'm good. Zygor, because you rolled those five 20s in a row, I need you to make one more throw for me.
Zygor (hesitatingly): Er...okay.
(Sound of dice rolling)
Zygor: It's...a...20?
DM: Are you sure?
Zygor (more confidently): Yep. It's a 20.
DM: Oh. That's too bad. Really. I'm sorry to say this but...
Zygor: Wait! WAIT! My mistake! It's not a 20! It's...a...1?
DM: A 1? You're positive now?
Zygor: Yes! Yes! It's a 1! It's quite clearly a 1! Definitely a 1!
DM: Oh. That's...even worse than the 20. Now not only does your sword break because of how powerful your recent blows have been...
Zygor: It breaks? My sword breaks? Whadda ya mean it breaks? It's a magical sword! It can cut through anything!
DM: Yes, it can, can't it? Which explains why the broken blade so easily penetrates your mithril armor and embeds itself in your stomach. Ooh, that's gotta hurt. Let's see how much.
(Sound of dice rolling)
DM: Oh.
(More dice rolling)
DM: Ooh.
(More dice rolling)
DM: Oh boy. Let's see now...carry the 1...divide by Pi...adjust for the phase of the moon and...Zygor? How much health do you have?
Zygor: Um...158 hit points?
DM: You don't sound too sure.
Zygor: No. No, it's 158. Definitely 158.
DM: That's what I thought too. So, after being stabbed in the belly by your own magical sword you now have 1 hit point left.
Zygor (faintly): 1...hit point...left?
DM: Yep, just the one. Now, as you stand there, dizzily clutching the broken blade protruding from your stomach, your Orc opponent swings his axe and...
(Sound of dice rolling)
DM: Well, whadda ya know? A 20! How about that. Zygor, I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. Zygor? Zygor?
DM (breaking character): Bob? You there, buddy?
Bob (Zygor no longer): I think I'm going to lie down.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
No Title
Can't think of a title for this one.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I woke up and looked around it took me a few seconds to orient myself, then I realized I was in the spare bedroom. I chuckled to myself. "Guess I came in for a nap and the wife just let me sleep through." I got up and peeked in our bedroom door; she was still fast asleep in our bed so I thought I'd surprise her with breakfast.
Maybe it was the coffee brewing, perhaps the toast, or the frying bacon, but shortly after I'd started breakfast I heard her stirring, and a few minutes later she came downstairs then peered around the corner.
"Good morning, beautiful," I said. "Looks like my nap in the spare bedroom went a little longer than planned." I smiled at her, and she smiled back but behind the eyes I saw...something else. Sadness?
"Something wrong?" I asked her.
"No," she said, "well, maybe. Yes, yes there is."
I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She took a sip as I prompted her. "Well, come on. Out with it."
She sighed, then muttered almost under her breath, "this just gets harder and harder."
"Sorry?" I said, "What do you mean?"
"Oh honey," she said, bursting into tears. "You've got Alzheimer's. You've had it for years."
"I do?" I said. "Alzheimer's? You'd think I'd remember something like that."
She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "You always say that," she said.
I smiled at her. "So you're saying I forgot I have Alzheimer's?"
She nodded her head. "What's today's date?" she asked me.
"Ahh, a test," I replied. "Let's see now. Christmas was a couple of weeks ago so...I'm guessing...January 7th." I winked at her. "1995."
"It's August 12th," she said sadly. "August 12th, 2007."
I looked at her. She was serious. She pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall. It was on August, and the first 11 days had been crossed out. It was a calendar...for 2007. I was glad I'd been leaning nonchalantly against the counter because I needed it now to stop me from collapsing to the floor. I really did have Alzheimer's.
"How...how long..." I couldn't finish the question.
She answered anyway. "Twelve and a half years, since 1997. January 1st, 1997. We'd seen the signs the previous year. We knew it was coming, then you woke up on New Year's Day and...that was it."
"How bad is it?" I asked her.
She shook her head.
"That bad?"
"You don't remember anything."
"But...look at me! I...I remember it now. I'm good. Am I...cured?"
"No," she said, "you have days like this, every now and then...every year or two. One day, every couple of years, you're okay. And...I know you're okay on that day because...you make me breakfast." Tears were running down her cheeks now.
"The other days?" I asked her. "What am I like...on the other days?"
"You don't know me," she said. "You get up and fix yourself a bowl of cereal, and you're surprised when I come downstairs. That's why...you sleep in the spare bedroom. You don't know me. You don't remember me. You don't even know we're married."
"So the other days, it's like we're dating, right?" I grasped for something to hold on to. Something to let me know that when I wasn't here, that I was at least sort of still there for her.
She shook her head, she couldn't give me that. "I fix you lunch and I make you dinner, and you thank me, then ignore me. And in the evening I go to our bedroom, and you go to your room. And that's our day. Except for those few good days, that's been our life for the past twelve years. I take care of you every day, hoping you'll get better, waiting for days like today, because they make it all worthwhile."
I took her in my arms and we held each other for the longest time. Our coffee grew cold, but we couldn't let each other go. It didn't feel like it to me, but for her, we'd been apart for so long that today, she needed to be close to me.
It was like we were dating all over again. We went out for lunch, enjoying an unusually mild summer day. Not too hot. Just nice. We watched a movie. We went for a walk in the park. We had dinner at the restaurant where I'd proposed to her all those years ago. Hard to believe it was still open.
"So...tomorrow?" I said to her, as we walked in our front door.
"You won't remember any of this," she said. "You'll forget it all, and I'll go back to taking care of a husband who doesn't even know me. Maybe you'll be back in a year or two...but it's been getting longer," she said. "March 30 was the last day we spent together. March 30th, 2005. Almost two and a half years ago."
I stared at the woman who'd promised to love and cherish me, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. And she was sticking to that promise, even though I was no longer the man she'd married...except for one day every few years. Like today.
Until death do us part.
She was still a beautiful woman. She still had so much to live for. She didn't deserve to spend the rest of her days like this. She needed to live. Not waste away taking care of a man who barely acknowledged her existence.
Until death do us part.
"I'm going to shower before bed," I said to her. "Do I...still do that?"
"Only if I remind you," she told me.
Wow. When I wasn't me, I was a pig. An ungrateful, inconsiderate pig. I took everything from her and gave nothing back. Nothing but one day every year or so...and she'd said those days were getting further and further apart.
"You don't need to remind me tonight," I told her, smiling. Then I kissed her. "I love you," I told her. "I've always loved you, even if I don't remember. Thank you, for everything."
Upstairs, as I got ready for my shower, I slipped the phone into the pocket of my robe. In the bathroom I found the hair scissors. Still razor sharp, as if they were brand new. Which they practically were, or at least never used. I remember I'd got the set for Christmas, 1996. My last Christmas, or at least the last one I could remember.
Did we...celebrate Christmas? It didn't sound like we did. No Christmas. No birthday. No anniversary. I just lived here while my devoted wife spent her life looking after me.
The water was hot now, and steaming up the bathroom mirror. On a whim I grabbed the bar of soap and wrote on the mirror "I love you".
Then I took the phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
I was on hold for a minute or so, and my heart began beating faster as I contemplated the next few minutes.
"Nine-one-one. Please state the nature of the emergency."
I gently tapped the receiver on the counter, three times. I knew the internal microphone would pick up the taps and relay them loud & clear to the operator.
"Please confirm. If you need emergency assistance, please...knock three times again."
I leaned close to the phone and whispered "help..." Then I gently knocked three times again before dropping the phone the one inch to the counter top. It gave a quiet rattle that I knew the operator would have heard in her headset.
I heard her saying, "Sir, please hold on. Help is on the way!"
Then I took the scissors and stepped into the shower.
The hot water was relaxing. It had been a beautiful day. It really seemed a shame to end it like this, but I felt like I owed it to my wife. She'd stood by me all these years, even though I no longer knew her. Many years ago she'd made a promise, and only one person could release her from that. Tomorrow, that person would no longer exist, but today...he was here today.
Before I could change my mind I drove the needle point of the scissors deep into my wrist, then sliced the razor-like blade up my arm. The pain was incredible, but...what pain had my wife been enduring all these years? This was nothing but a few minutes of discomfort. The blood poured from my arm as I flexed my fingers. I could still use that hand, for the moment, but I only needed a moment more.
The blood running down my ruined wrist mixed with the water and it was hard to hold the scissors in that hand. I was already feeling light headed. Both hands were tingling, not just the hand on the end of the ruined arm. I couldn't feel the scissors, but I could see them in that hand, the blade protruding from my fist. I slammed my other arm down onto the wicked blade then dragged it up my forearm as best as I could.
Then I sat down. In a pool of swirling crimson water. So much red. Gushing from each arm.
I could hear sirens. Getting louder. 9-1-1 had responded pretty quickly. Hopefully not quickly enough.
I tried to flex my hands, to keep the blood flowing.
Did they move? I stared at them. Were...these my hands?
They seemed so far away.
My wrists had stopped hurting now but the edges of my vision had gone black.
My hands...I squinted. I could hardly see them. So blurry.
I forced myself to focus. Pointless. Vision. Fading.
Everything went dark.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Word says this is about 1,600 words. Funny. In my senior year of High School we had a year long essay project. We had to write several 500-word essays, and one 1,500+ word essay. It seemed so hard back then, and now, just like that, I've cranked one out without batting an eye lid.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I woke up and looked around it took me a few seconds to orient myself, then I realized I was in the spare bedroom. I chuckled to myself. "Guess I came in for a nap and the wife just let me sleep through." I got up and peeked in our bedroom door; she was still fast asleep in our bed so I thought I'd surprise her with breakfast.
Maybe it was the coffee brewing, perhaps the toast, or the frying bacon, but shortly after I'd started breakfast I heard her stirring, and a few minutes later she came downstairs then peered around the corner.
"Good morning, beautiful," I said. "Looks like my nap in the spare bedroom went a little longer than planned." I smiled at her, and she smiled back but behind the eyes I saw...something else. Sadness?
"Something wrong?" I asked her.
"No," she said, "well, maybe. Yes, yes there is."
I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She took a sip as I prompted her. "Well, come on. Out with it."
She sighed, then muttered almost under her breath, "this just gets harder and harder."
"Sorry?" I said, "What do you mean?"
"Oh honey," she said, bursting into tears. "You've got Alzheimer's. You've had it for years."
"I do?" I said. "Alzheimer's? You'd think I'd remember something like that."
She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "You always say that," she said.
I smiled at her. "So you're saying I forgot I have Alzheimer's?"
She nodded her head. "What's today's date?" she asked me.
"Ahh, a test," I replied. "Let's see now. Christmas was a couple of weeks ago so...I'm guessing...January 7th." I winked at her. "1995."
"It's August 12th," she said sadly. "August 12th, 2007."
I looked at her. She was serious. She pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall. It was on August, and the first 11 days had been crossed out. It was a calendar...for 2007. I was glad I'd been leaning nonchalantly against the counter because I needed it now to stop me from collapsing to the floor. I really did have Alzheimer's.
"How...how long..." I couldn't finish the question.
She answered anyway. "Twelve and a half years, since 1997. January 1st, 1997. We'd seen the signs the previous year. We knew it was coming, then you woke up on New Year's Day and...that was it."
"How bad is it?" I asked her.
She shook her head.
"That bad?"
"You don't remember anything."
"But...look at me! I...I remember it now. I'm good. Am I...cured?"
"No," she said, "you have days like this, every now and then...every year or two. One day, every couple of years, you're okay. And...I know you're okay on that day because...you make me breakfast." Tears were running down her cheeks now.
"The other days?" I asked her. "What am I like...on the other days?"
"You don't know me," she said. "You get up and fix yourself a bowl of cereal, and you're surprised when I come downstairs. That's why...you sleep in the spare bedroom. You don't know me. You don't remember me. You don't even know we're married."
"So the other days, it's like we're dating, right?" I grasped for something to hold on to. Something to let me know that when I wasn't here, that I was at least sort of still there for her.
She shook her head, she couldn't give me that. "I fix you lunch and I make you dinner, and you thank me, then ignore me. And in the evening I go to our bedroom, and you go to your room. And that's our day. Except for those few good days, that's been our life for the past twelve years. I take care of you every day, hoping you'll get better, waiting for days like today, because they make it all worthwhile."
I took her in my arms and we held each other for the longest time. Our coffee grew cold, but we couldn't let each other go. It didn't feel like it to me, but for her, we'd been apart for so long that today, she needed to be close to me.
It was like we were dating all over again. We went out for lunch, enjoying an unusually mild summer day. Not too hot. Just nice. We watched a movie. We went for a walk in the park. We had dinner at the restaurant where I'd proposed to her all those years ago. Hard to believe it was still open.
"So...tomorrow?" I said to her, as we walked in our front door.
"You won't remember any of this," she said. "You'll forget it all, and I'll go back to taking care of a husband who doesn't even know me. Maybe you'll be back in a year or two...but it's been getting longer," she said. "March 30 was the last day we spent together. March 30th, 2005. Almost two and a half years ago."
I stared at the woman who'd promised to love and cherish me, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. And she was sticking to that promise, even though I was no longer the man she'd married...except for one day every few years. Like today.
Until death do us part.
She was still a beautiful woman. She still had so much to live for. She didn't deserve to spend the rest of her days like this. She needed to live. Not waste away taking care of a man who barely acknowledged her existence.
Until death do us part.
"I'm going to shower before bed," I said to her. "Do I...still do that?"
"Only if I remind you," she told me.
Wow. When I wasn't me, I was a pig. An ungrateful, inconsiderate pig. I took everything from her and gave nothing back. Nothing but one day every year or so...and she'd said those days were getting further and further apart.
"You don't need to remind me tonight," I told her, smiling. Then I kissed her. "I love you," I told her. "I've always loved you, even if I don't remember. Thank you, for everything."
Upstairs, as I got ready for my shower, I slipped the phone into the pocket of my robe. In the bathroom I found the hair scissors. Still razor sharp, as if they were brand new. Which they practically were, or at least never used. I remember I'd got the set for Christmas, 1996. My last Christmas, or at least the last one I could remember.
Did we...celebrate Christmas? It didn't sound like we did. No Christmas. No birthday. No anniversary. I just lived here while my devoted wife spent her life looking after me.
The water was hot now, and steaming up the bathroom mirror. On a whim I grabbed the bar of soap and wrote on the mirror "I love you".
Then I took the phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
I was on hold for a minute or so, and my heart began beating faster as I contemplated the next few minutes.
"Nine-one-one. Please state the nature of the emergency."
I gently tapped the receiver on the counter, three times. I knew the internal microphone would pick up the taps and relay them loud & clear to the operator.
"Please confirm. If you need emergency assistance, please...knock three times again."
I leaned close to the phone and whispered "help..." Then I gently knocked three times again before dropping the phone the one inch to the counter top. It gave a quiet rattle that I knew the operator would have heard in her headset.
I heard her saying, "Sir, please hold on. Help is on the way!"
Then I took the scissors and stepped into the shower.
The hot water was relaxing. It had been a beautiful day. It really seemed a shame to end it like this, but I felt like I owed it to my wife. She'd stood by me all these years, even though I no longer knew her. Many years ago she'd made a promise, and only one person could release her from that. Tomorrow, that person would no longer exist, but today...he was here today.
Before I could change my mind I drove the needle point of the scissors deep into my wrist, then sliced the razor-like blade up my arm. The pain was incredible, but...what pain had my wife been enduring all these years? This was nothing but a few minutes of discomfort. The blood poured from my arm as I flexed my fingers. I could still use that hand, for the moment, but I only needed a moment more.
The blood running down my ruined wrist mixed with the water and it was hard to hold the scissors in that hand. I was already feeling light headed. Both hands were tingling, not just the hand on the end of the ruined arm. I couldn't feel the scissors, but I could see them in that hand, the blade protruding from my fist. I slammed my other arm down onto the wicked blade then dragged it up my forearm as best as I could.
Then I sat down. In a pool of swirling crimson water. So much red. Gushing from each arm.
I could hear sirens. Getting louder. 9-1-1 had responded pretty quickly. Hopefully not quickly enough.
I tried to flex my hands, to keep the blood flowing.
Did they move? I stared at them. Were...these my hands?
They seemed so far away.
My wrists had stopped hurting now but the edges of my vision had gone black.
My hands...I squinted. I could hardly see them. So blurry.
I forced myself to focus. Pointless. Vision. Fading.
Everything went dark.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Word says this is about 1,600 words. Funny. In my senior year of High School we had a year long essay project. We had to write several 500-word essays, and one 1,500+ word essay. It seemed so hard back then, and now, just like that, I've cranked one out without batting an eye lid.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
One fine day in downtown
Or Fiction from the twisted mind of the Cap'n
"I like your ring."
"Huh?" I looked across at the man standing next to me, looked down at the ring on my left hand, then back up at the man. "It's my wedding ri...", the words tapered off as I stared down the barrel of the gun in his hand.
"Give me the fucking ring!" he yelled.
"I like your gun," I said. "Is it a Glock, or a Smith and Wesson?"
"Huh?" he said, confused, momentarily looking down at the gun in his hand. He looked up to see me stepping in towards him. I reached for the gun, twisting my body as he fired a round at point blank range, then my hands closed on the blistering hot metal. Who knew that a gun could get so hot after firing just one round?
I ignored the burning in my fingers and twisted the gun around and up and in a heartbeat the situation had changed and the gun was now pointing at him and it was his turn to look down the barrel.
I'd closed my hands over his so his hands were still wrapped around the gun and his finger was still on the trigger.
"I suggest you let go," I said calmly. "If you fight for the gun it's going to go off, and you'll get shot."
"FUCK YOU!" He screamed. For a second he pushed against me but just for a second, for like I'd said the gun exploded, along with the back of his head, and just like his brains all the fight went out of him.
I let go of his hands and the gun and stepped back as his body collapsed at my feet. I was feeling a little light headed myself, after-effects of the adrenaline rush, I figured. Rather than fall down I sat down and listened to the wailing of sirens that was getting closer and louder. In the heart of downtown the police were never far away, and within seconds a Black & White screeched to a halt with one wheel up on the curb, and two officers leaped out, their guns drawn and pointing in my direction.
I stood up and held out my empty hands, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, which can be tough when you're standing over a dead body.
"He tried to rob me," I said. "We struggled and his gun went off."
One officer looked at me and lowered his gun. The other ignored me and knelt at the body at my feet. I saw him check for a pulse but he stopped when the second officer, still looking at me, said "Don't bother, he's gone." To me, he added, "why didn't you give him what he wanted?"
"He wanted my wedding ring," I said, holding up my hand.
"How much could it be worth?" he asked me.
"My wedding ring? Priceless! Sentimental value and all that."
"What about your life? What value would you put on that?"
"Well, that's priceless too, of course."
"So you traded one for the other?" he asked me, sadly.
"Huh?"
He gestured to his partner, still kneeling at the body at my feet. I looked down at his partner but he wasn't looking back at me. He was looking up at the second officer.
I looked back at the second officer, too. "I don't understand."
"Look again," he said.
I looked down, this time at the body at my feet...my body...at my feet. The front of my body's shirt was soaked in blood.
I looked up at the second officer. "But...I..."
"I'm sorry," he said. "But you're dead. You traded your life for a wedding ring."
"Guess I wasn't as good at dodging bullets as I thought," I mused.
Then I noticed a speck of light out of the corner of my eye, growing brighter and brighter. The officer and I turned to look at it. The other officer just looked at his partner.
"How's it going?" he said.
"Good," replied the second officer. "He's been good; he's getting the light."
"Cool," said the first officer.
"Only I can see you," said the second officer, looking at me. "Or hear you. My mother was a witch, so was my grandmother, and her mother before her. I got the sight from them. You're lucky you're getting the light. See, the dark's got him." He gestured to the ground and I looked and saw my would-be mugger's body, covered in black ant-like specks. His dead body appeared to be glowing but the dark specks crawled all over him and they seemed to be eating his body's light because it got fainter as I watched.
"Oh look at that," said the second officer, and I obeyed, my eyes drawn to the speck of light which was no longer a speck but had grown brighter and larger and was now the size of a door. A figure appeared in the light and I watched as it stepped through. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the glare and I could make out the features of its face and my heart leaped, or it would have, if I hadn't been dead.
"Cathy! Oh my God! Is it really you?"
"Hi, Peter," said the voice that now, truly belonged to my angel. "I missed you."
"Oh Cathy," I said, "I missed you, too!"
I don't know how two spirits managed it but we embraced, and the years since death had torn us apart melted away into nothing.
Finally I turned and faced the second officer. I held up my hand, my left hand, which somehow wore a ghost of my wedding ring, an endless loop, a symbol of my never ending love for Cathy.
"I told you it had sentimental value," I said.
"Priceless," was his reply.
I nodded to him, and holding hands Cathy and I stepped into the light and were gone, together.
"Huh?" I looked across at the man standing next to me, looked down at the ring on my left hand, then back up at the man. "It's my wedding ri...", the words tapered off as I stared down the barrel of the gun in his hand.
"Give me the fucking ring!" he yelled.
"I like your gun," I said. "Is it a Glock, or a Smith and Wesson?"
"Huh?" he said, confused, momentarily looking down at the gun in his hand. He looked up to see me stepping in towards him. I reached for the gun, twisting my body as he fired a round at point blank range, then my hands closed on the blistering hot metal. Who knew that a gun could get so hot after firing just one round?
I ignored the burning in my fingers and twisted the gun around and up and in a heartbeat the situation had changed and the gun was now pointing at him and it was his turn to look down the barrel.
I'd closed my hands over his so his hands were still wrapped around the gun and his finger was still on the trigger.
"I suggest you let go," I said calmly. "If you fight for the gun it's going to go off, and you'll get shot."
"FUCK YOU!" He screamed. For a second he pushed against me but just for a second, for like I'd said the gun exploded, along with the back of his head, and just like his brains all the fight went out of him.
I let go of his hands and the gun and stepped back as his body collapsed at my feet. I was feeling a little light headed myself, after-effects of the adrenaline rush, I figured. Rather than fall down I sat down and listened to the wailing of sirens that was getting closer and louder. In the heart of downtown the police were never far away, and within seconds a Black & White screeched to a halt with one wheel up on the curb, and two officers leaped out, their guns drawn and pointing in my direction.
I stood up and held out my empty hands, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, which can be tough when you're standing over a dead body.
"He tried to rob me," I said. "We struggled and his gun went off."
One officer looked at me and lowered his gun. The other ignored me and knelt at the body at my feet. I saw him check for a pulse but he stopped when the second officer, still looking at me, said "Don't bother, he's gone." To me, he added, "why didn't you give him what he wanted?"
"He wanted my wedding ring," I said, holding up my hand.
"How much could it be worth?" he asked me.
"My wedding ring? Priceless! Sentimental value and all that."
"What about your life? What value would you put on that?"
"Well, that's priceless too, of course."
"So you traded one for the other?" he asked me, sadly.
"Huh?"
He gestured to his partner, still kneeling at the body at my feet. I looked down at his partner but he wasn't looking back at me. He was looking up at the second officer.
I looked back at the second officer, too. "I don't understand."
"Look again," he said.
I looked down, this time at the body at my feet...my body...at my feet. The front of my body's shirt was soaked in blood.
I looked up at the second officer. "But...I..."
"I'm sorry," he said. "But you're dead. You traded your life for a wedding ring."
"Guess I wasn't as good at dodging bullets as I thought," I mused.
Then I noticed a speck of light out of the corner of my eye, growing brighter and brighter. The officer and I turned to look at it. The other officer just looked at his partner.
"How's it going?" he said.
"Good," replied the second officer. "He's been good; he's getting the light."
"Cool," said the first officer.
"Only I can see you," said the second officer, looking at me. "Or hear you. My mother was a witch, so was my grandmother, and her mother before her. I got the sight from them. You're lucky you're getting the light. See, the dark's got him." He gestured to the ground and I looked and saw my would-be mugger's body, covered in black ant-like specks. His dead body appeared to be glowing but the dark specks crawled all over him and they seemed to be eating his body's light because it got fainter as I watched.
"Oh look at that," said the second officer, and I obeyed, my eyes drawn to the speck of light which was no longer a speck but had grown brighter and larger and was now the size of a door. A figure appeared in the light and I watched as it stepped through. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the glare and I could make out the features of its face and my heart leaped, or it would have, if I hadn't been dead.
"Cathy! Oh my God! Is it really you?"
"Hi, Peter," said the voice that now, truly belonged to my angel. "I missed you."
"Oh Cathy," I said, "I missed you, too!"
I don't know how two spirits managed it but we embraced, and the years since death had torn us apart melted away into nothing.
Finally I turned and faced the second officer. I held up my hand, my left hand, which somehow wore a ghost of my wedding ring, an endless loop, a symbol of my never ending love for Cathy.
"I told you it had sentimental value," I said.
"Priceless," was his reply.
I nodded to him, and holding hands Cathy and I stepped into the light and were gone, together.
Friday, April 13, 2007
A short story
The chirping of the phone pierced his dreams and a sleep-clumsy hand moved towards the receiver. Finally he had the phone in his hands, the chirping stopped and he lay the receiver across his head.
"Hello?"
"Hi, son."
"Uh, hi, Dad."
One sleep-encrusted eyelid opened just a crack and he looked at the clock.
"Dad, it's 3am."
"I just wanted to tell you I love you."
"I love you too, Dad."
The phone was silent and he knew his Dad was gone.
Then both eyes opened and he stared at the clock. It wasn't 3am. It was 3:12am. It was 3:12am on the morning of Saturday, May 15th.
Six years ago his mother had woken up to find his father sitting on the edge of their bed. She said he'd looked at her and with tears streaming down his cheeks he'd told her something was terribly wrong, and then he'd collapsed onto the floor.
The paramedics had not been able to revive him and he was pronounced dead at the scene. Cause of death was a massive heart attack. The time of death was 3:12am, Saturday, May 15th.
As he stared at the clock the phone began chirping again. He answered it reluctantly, hesitatingly.
"Hello?"
"Hi, son."
He laughed.
"Hi, Mum. He called you, too. Didn't he?"
They talked for a while before hanging up, and then he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. He lay there for a long time before sleep finally reclaimed him. The phone never rang again.
"Hello?"
"Hi, son."
"Uh, hi, Dad."
One sleep-encrusted eyelid opened just a crack and he looked at the clock.
"Dad, it's 3am."
"I just wanted to tell you I love you."
"I love you too, Dad."
The phone was silent and he knew his Dad was gone.
Then both eyes opened and he stared at the clock. It wasn't 3am. It was 3:12am. It was 3:12am on the morning of Saturday, May 15th.
Six years ago his mother had woken up to find his father sitting on the edge of their bed. She said he'd looked at her and with tears streaming down his cheeks he'd told her something was terribly wrong, and then he'd collapsed onto the floor.
The paramedics had not been able to revive him and he was pronounced dead at the scene. Cause of death was a massive heart attack. The time of death was 3:12am, Saturday, May 15th.
As he stared at the clock the phone began chirping again. He answered it reluctantly, hesitatingly.
"Hello?"
"Hi, son."
He laughed.
"Hi, Mum. He called you, too. Didn't he?"
They talked for a while before hanging up, and then he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. He lay there for a long time before sleep finally reclaimed him. The phone never rang again.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Kwazimoto and the demon
Kwazimoto quietly watched the human who looked more like he belonged on the piers of Booty Bay than wandering around the lava pools of the Burning Steppes.
"Franklin the Friendly, huh?" said Kwazimoto to himself. "If you're so friendly, why do you smell like a demon?"
A few days earlier Kwazi had carefully approached Franklin and engaged him in conversation.
"Lava?" said Franklin. "Pay no mind to all of that, friend. Look around you. Take in the joys that nature has to offer."
"Er...ok," Kwazi replied, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Franklin looked down at Kwazi, smiling affably, but every one of Kwazi’s Hunter instincts was screaming at him that this was not someone to trifle with. Rex, Kwazi's Tiger companion from Durotar's Echo Isles, had begun growling at Franklin as soon as they'd approached. Kwazi had placed his arm over the Tiger's neck but that had only lowered the volume of the big cat's growl, not stopped it completely. In fact Rex didn't stop growling until long after they'd left Franklin, still smiling and looking after them as he stood among the lava pools...and Wyrmkin...and other beasties, which all gave him a wide, respectable berth, as if they too knew that Franklin was more than just a mere man.
Kwazimoto had returned to Lakeshire, got Rex settled in with Penny at the Inn and then had Verner Osgood check over his armor and equipment.
"Everything is in excellent shape, Kwazi," Verner had said to the Dwarf when he'd picked up his armor. "Why, you could probably take on a demon single-handed with nary a scratch to show for it!"
Verner had been chuckling at his own joke until Kwazi growled, "Good, because I'm about to do just that."
Only then had Verner looked around and noticed that Rex, who had a habit of not being there unless you really looked for him, really wasn't there.
"You're heading north?" he'd asked Kwazi, already knowing the answer. "You're after Klinfran?" Kwazi just nodded as he buckled on his mithril vest. Very serious now, Verner sought to reassure his old friend, "your armor really is in great condition, you know. And the action on your rifle is working as smooth as silk. Your gear will not let you down."
"Aye, Kwazi replied, "and that's how it should be. This is a test of my abilities, not my gear." And being a dwarf of little words he'd said nothing more as he mounted up and rode away than "Be seein' ya."
Leaving his Ram at Morgan's Vigil Kwazi had trekked across the Burning Steppes to Blackrock Mountain, and there, just south of the imposing monolith, he again found "Franklin the Friendly", wandering among the lava pools, Wyrmkin and giant spiders.
Kwazi watched and waited and when "Franklin" was more on his own and the nearby beasties were not so close he began his approach. Kwazi prided himself on his stalking skills, and he was positive he'd dislodged not even the smallest pebble, yet Franklin still turned to face him as if he'd known the Hunter was there all along. Despite the heat from the surrounding lava pools, under Franklin's gaze Kwazi's blood ran cold and he knew his instincts had not let him down.
"Greetings, friend. Lovely weather we're having," said Franklin.
"Can it, demon! I know who you are!" growled Kwazi, then he quickly backed away as Franklin's face darkened then began to change, along with the rest of his body.
With a roar that echoed off the surrounding mountains Klinfran the Crazed tore away his human disguise, revealing his demonic self to the Dwarf that had so brashly challenged him, who promptly shot him in the face. The demon was stunned for several seconds and this gave Kwazimoto all the time he needed, to turn and run.
And the words of Kwazi's mentor came back to him in a rush, far faster than he could have recalled them while sitting down over a pint.
"The Hunter does not use strength of arm to win the battle, he uses his mind.
The Hunter picks the site of battle, and if he cannot, he picks the time.
The Hunter who makes his opponent fight the Hunter's fight will always win, regardless of strength of arm.
The Hunter uses his speed and agility to wear down a stronger, more heavily armored foe.
Just as there is no dishonor for the Rogue to attack from behind, with devastating blows that stun and immobilize his opponent, so too there is no dishonor for the Hunter to attack from a distance and never give his opponent the chance to strike back."
Kwazimoto knew of Klinfran's reputation and his extreme hatred for Hunters, especially those seeking to test themselves against him. "But do we seek to battle Klinfran because he hates Hunters?" Kwazi thought to himself. "Or does he hate Hunters because we repeatedly banish him to his home plane?"
But those questions were irrelevant at this point in time and best pondered, like his mentor's teachings, over a pint of Thunder Ale at the Kharanos Inn with his good friend Jarven.
Knowing he'd gained some ground on the demon, but also fully aware of its unnatural speed and strength, Kwazi stopped for a second. Spinning around he shouldered his rifle and took aim. For anyone else such a shot would be impossible. Kwazi had just run fifty yards in less than five seconds, and now he was attempting to accurately shoot his rifle at a fast approaching target. Admittedly it was a huge target, standing well over ten feet tall, but the size of this target worked against the ordinary shooter because this was no ordinary target but a very large and angry demon. But Kwazimoto was also not an ordinary shooter; he was a Hunter, and he'd been training his entire life for this very moment.
Even at the pace he'd run it fifty yards was nothing to a Dwarf who could run all day on a hunk of Dwarven Mild sandwiched between two slices of Myra Tyrngaarde's legendary Cornbread. In just a couple of seconds, despite the demon looming ever larger in his sights, Kwazimoto's breathing and heart rate slowed. His rifle stopped bouncing around and the bead on the front of the barrel settled down into the notched blade at the rear, and both sights were aligned perfectly with the demon's massive chest. If the sights did bob slightly with his heartbeat they were in synch with the bouncing stride of the fast approaching demon, and the front bead remained centered on Klinfran's torso.
Kwazimoto never consciously squeezed the trigger, the Hunter never does; his body just knows when the time is right and it takes the shot itself. The rifle kicked in his arms and Kwazi knew his shot had been true; he didn't need Klinfran's angry roar to confirm that.
Once more Kwazi turned and ran with the demon hot on his heels and he quickly settled into a rhythm. He didn't count the steps; like his body knowing when to shoot, his Hunter instincts just told him the time was right, and time after time he stopped, turned, and paused for a second. Then the rifle barked and Klinfran roared and Kwazi turned and continued running.
The demon chased the Dwarf all the way across the Burning Steppes and Kwazi was shocked when he recognized the path leading up to Morgan's Vigil. They'd run so far and he'd shot the demon so many times and still it kept coming, but the Hunter never gives up. To give up is to die (or at least fake it convincingly).
Kwazi stopped, turned, aimed and fired and Klinfran roared, but Kwazi stood his ground, reloading and firing again. Klinfran charged in as Kwazi reloaded a third time but still he didn't turn and run. At literally point blank range Kwazi fired a round directly into Klinfran's face and the demon stopped in its tracks, stunned.
For several seconds Klinfran wandered aimlessly in much the same manner as its human counterpart had earlier wandered around the lava pools, and Kwazi took this opportunity to dodge around the demon and start running back towards Blackrock Mountain. But as he ducked under its arms Kwazi took note of the black blood that covered the demon's chest, and he knew Klinfran couldn't have much left in him.
An angry roar told Kwazi that Klinfran had regained his senses but the Hunter had likewise regained his lead and the demon could do nothing but continue the chase. Once more Kwazi settled into his rhythm; run, stop, turn and shoot, turn and run again. But each time he took aim he could tell the demon was slowing down, and then the little voice inside him spoke up, and he stopped and turned and took aim.
The rifle barked but Kwazi stood his ground, reloading and taking aim once again. As Klinfran staggered towards him Kwazi settled his rifle's sights on the demon’s chest, his rifle barked, and time seemed to stand still.
So keyed up, so full of adrenaline was he, that Kwazi could almost see the thorium round as it left his rifle and flew towards Klinfran. In that split second Kwazi wondered if the demon with its supernatural senses could see it, or if it just knew its doom was once more at hand.
Kwazi had defeated many foes before facing down Klinfran, in fact three other mighty demons had already fallen before him, but Kwazi would remember this moment for the rest of his life.
At every retelling of this tale Kwazi would recall that as that final round streaked home, that Klinfran the Crazed, the mighty demon, had looked afraid. He always wondered if he'd imagined it but he couldn't shake the feeling that as he'd fired that final round Klinfran had started to turn, as if to run from the Hunter.
The old saying was very true, Kwazi thought to himself. Don't run from a Hunter, you'll only die tired.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story I've also written a 4-part series based on Kwazimoto's early years: Click here for part I of Becoming the Hunter.
"Franklin the Friendly, huh?" said Kwazimoto to himself. "If you're so friendly, why do you smell like a demon?"
A few days earlier Kwazi had carefully approached Franklin and engaged him in conversation.
"Lava?" said Franklin. "Pay no mind to all of that, friend. Look around you. Take in the joys that nature has to offer."
"Er...ok," Kwazi replied, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Franklin looked down at Kwazi, smiling affably, but every one of Kwazi’s Hunter instincts was screaming at him that this was not someone to trifle with. Rex, Kwazi's Tiger companion from Durotar's Echo Isles, had begun growling at Franklin as soon as they'd approached. Kwazi had placed his arm over the Tiger's neck but that had only lowered the volume of the big cat's growl, not stopped it completely. In fact Rex didn't stop growling until long after they'd left Franklin, still smiling and looking after them as he stood among the lava pools...and Wyrmkin...and other beasties, which all gave him a wide, respectable berth, as if they too knew that Franklin was more than just a mere man.
Kwazimoto had returned to Lakeshire, got Rex settled in with Penny at the Inn and then had Verner Osgood check over his armor and equipment.
"Everything is in excellent shape, Kwazi," Verner had said to the Dwarf when he'd picked up his armor. "Why, you could probably take on a demon single-handed with nary a scratch to show for it!"
Verner had been chuckling at his own joke until Kwazi growled, "Good, because I'm about to do just that."
Only then had Verner looked around and noticed that Rex, who had a habit of not being there unless you really looked for him, really wasn't there.
"You're heading north?" he'd asked Kwazi, already knowing the answer. "You're after Klinfran?" Kwazi just nodded as he buckled on his mithril vest. Very serious now, Verner sought to reassure his old friend, "your armor really is in great condition, you know. And the action on your rifle is working as smooth as silk. Your gear will not let you down."
"Aye, Kwazi replied, "and that's how it should be. This is a test of my abilities, not my gear." And being a dwarf of little words he'd said nothing more as he mounted up and rode away than "Be seein' ya."
Leaving his Ram at Morgan's Vigil Kwazi had trekked across the Burning Steppes to Blackrock Mountain, and there, just south of the imposing monolith, he again found "Franklin the Friendly", wandering among the lava pools, Wyrmkin and giant spiders.
Kwazi watched and waited and when "Franklin" was more on his own and the nearby beasties were not so close he began his approach. Kwazi prided himself on his stalking skills, and he was positive he'd dislodged not even the smallest pebble, yet Franklin still turned to face him as if he'd known the Hunter was there all along. Despite the heat from the surrounding lava pools, under Franklin's gaze Kwazi's blood ran cold and he knew his instincts had not let him down.
"Greetings, friend. Lovely weather we're having," said Franklin.
"Can it, demon! I know who you are!" growled Kwazi, then he quickly backed away as Franklin's face darkened then began to change, along with the rest of his body.
With a roar that echoed off the surrounding mountains Klinfran the Crazed tore away his human disguise, revealing his demonic self to the Dwarf that had so brashly challenged him, who promptly shot him in the face. The demon was stunned for several seconds and this gave Kwazimoto all the time he needed, to turn and run.
And the words of Kwazi's mentor came back to him in a rush, far faster than he could have recalled them while sitting down over a pint.
"The Hunter does not use strength of arm to win the battle, he uses his mind.
The Hunter picks the site of battle, and if he cannot, he picks the time.
The Hunter who makes his opponent fight the Hunter's fight will always win, regardless of strength of arm.
The Hunter uses his speed and agility to wear down a stronger, more heavily armored foe.
Just as there is no dishonor for the Rogue to attack from behind, with devastating blows that stun and immobilize his opponent, so too there is no dishonor for the Hunter to attack from a distance and never give his opponent the chance to strike back."
Kwazimoto knew of Klinfran's reputation and his extreme hatred for Hunters, especially those seeking to test themselves against him. "But do we seek to battle Klinfran because he hates Hunters?" Kwazi thought to himself. "Or does he hate Hunters because we repeatedly banish him to his home plane?"
But those questions were irrelevant at this point in time and best pondered, like his mentor's teachings, over a pint of Thunder Ale at the Kharanos Inn with his good friend Jarven.
Knowing he'd gained some ground on the demon, but also fully aware of its unnatural speed and strength, Kwazi stopped for a second. Spinning around he shouldered his rifle and took aim. For anyone else such a shot would be impossible. Kwazi had just run fifty yards in less than five seconds, and now he was attempting to accurately shoot his rifle at a fast approaching target. Admittedly it was a huge target, standing well over ten feet tall, but the size of this target worked against the ordinary shooter because this was no ordinary target but a very large and angry demon. But Kwazimoto was also not an ordinary shooter; he was a Hunter, and he'd been training his entire life for this very moment.
Even at the pace he'd run it fifty yards was nothing to a Dwarf who could run all day on a hunk of Dwarven Mild sandwiched between two slices of Myra Tyrngaarde's legendary Cornbread. In just a couple of seconds, despite the demon looming ever larger in his sights, Kwazimoto's breathing and heart rate slowed. His rifle stopped bouncing around and the bead on the front of the barrel settled down into the notched blade at the rear, and both sights were aligned perfectly with the demon's massive chest. If the sights did bob slightly with his heartbeat they were in synch with the bouncing stride of the fast approaching demon, and the front bead remained centered on Klinfran's torso.
Kwazimoto never consciously squeezed the trigger, the Hunter never does; his body just knows when the time is right and it takes the shot itself. The rifle kicked in his arms and Kwazi knew his shot had been true; he didn't need Klinfran's angry roar to confirm that.
Once more Kwazi turned and ran with the demon hot on his heels and he quickly settled into a rhythm. He didn't count the steps; like his body knowing when to shoot, his Hunter instincts just told him the time was right, and time after time he stopped, turned, and paused for a second. Then the rifle barked and Klinfran roared and Kwazi turned and continued running.
The demon chased the Dwarf all the way across the Burning Steppes and Kwazi was shocked when he recognized the path leading up to Morgan's Vigil. They'd run so far and he'd shot the demon so many times and still it kept coming, but the Hunter never gives up. To give up is to die (or at least fake it convincingly).
Kwazi stopped, turned, aimed and fired and Klinfran roared, but Kwazi stood his ground, reloading and firing again. Klinfran charged in as Kwazi reloaded a third time but still he didn't turn and run. At literally point blank range Kwazi fired a round directly into Klinfran's face and the demon stopped in its tracks, stunned.
For several seconds Klinfran wandered aimlessly in much the same manner as its human counterpart had earlier wandered around the lava pools, and Kwazi took this opportunity to dodge around the demon and start running back towards Blackrock Mountain. But as he ducked under its arms Kwazi took note of the black blood that covered the demon's chest, and he knew Klinfran couldn't have much left in him.
An angry roar told Kwazi that Klinfran had regained his senses but the Hunter had likewise regained his lead and the demon could do nothing but continue the chase. Once more Kwazi settled into his rhythm; run, stop, turn and shoot, turn and run again. But each time he took aim he could tell the demon was slowing down, and then the little voice inside him spoke up, and he stopped and turned and took aim.
The rifle barked but Kwazi stood his ground, reloading and taking aim once again. As Klinfran staggered towards him Kwazi settled his rifle's sights on the demon’s chest, his rifle barked, and time seemed to stand still.
So keyed up, so full of adrenaline was he, that Kwazi could almost see the thorium round as it left his rifle and flew towards Klinfran. In that split second Kwazi wondered if the demon with its supernatural senses could see it, or if it just knew its doom was once more at hand.
Kwazi had defeated many foes before facing down Klinfran, in fact three other mighty demons had already fallen before him, but Kwazi would remember this moment for the rest of his life.
At every retelling of this tale Kwazi would recall that as that final round streaked home, that Klinfran the Crazed, the mighty demon, had looked afraid. He always wondered if he'd imagined it but he couldn't shake the feeling that as he'd fired that final round Klinfran had started to turn, as if to run from the Hunter.
The old saying was very true, Kwazi thought to himself. Don't run from a Hunter, you'll only die tired.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story I've also written a 4-part series based on Kwazimoto's early years: Click here for part I of Becoming the Hunter.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Sixth Sense 2 *Contains spoilers*
Do a Ctrl-A or just click & drag to highlight the below text.
Why did Malcom's patient shoot him at the start of SS(1)? Because Malcolm didn't help him like he said he would.
In SS2 it's revealed that Malcolm's patient (& murderer) is actually an adult Cole. In SS(1) Malcolm's ghost actually traveled back in time to find and treat a young Cole, but as we all know from the end of SS(1), while Malcolm accepts his death and moves on, Cole still sees dead people!
Now, after years of seeing dead people at all hours of the day and night (as will be chronicled in SS2), Cole goes insane and takes out his frustration on the one person who he thinks let him down most, Dr. Malcolm Crowe.
The mandatory Shyamalan twist being that Malcolm won't even attempt to help Cole until after Cole has killed him!
Why did Malcom's patient shoot him at the start of SS(1)? Because Malcolm didn't help him like he said he would.
In SS2 it's revealed that Malcolm's patient (& murderer) is actually an adult Cole. In SS(1) Malcolm's ghost actually traveled back in time to find and treat a young Cole, but as we all know from the end of SS(1), while Malcolm accepts his death and moves on, Cole still sees dead people!
Now, after years of seeing dead people at all hours of the day and night (as will be chronicled in SS2), Cole goes insane and takes out his frustration on the one person who he thinks let him down most, Dr. Malcolm Crowe.
The mandatory Shyamalan twist being that Malcolm won't even attempt to help Cole until after Cole has killed him!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The lady on the bus
There's a mother on my bus,
with a three year old child.
It's just gone six ten a.m.
Lady, where are you going this morning,
with your child still wrapped in a blanket?
I know the bus that you ride,
I know from whence you have came.
I know the time you left behind
your warm, safe house this morn.
Lady, where do you go at this time?
You get off the bus at my stop,
and I look back as I enter my office.
You cross the road and head east,
into territory that I dare not enter.
Not at this time of the morn.
Mother and child in a blanket,
it's too early for you to be out.
You should be home, where it's warm and it's safe.
Yet here you are, walking the streets.
Where do you go at this time?
with a three year old child.
It's just gone six ten a.m.
Lady, where are you going this morning,
with your child still wrapped in a blanket?
I know the bus that you ride,
I know from whence you have came.
I know the time you left behind
your warm, safe house this morn.
Lady, where do you go at this time?
You get off the bus at my stop,
and I look back as I enter my office.
You cross the road and head east,
into territory that I dare not enter.
Not at this time of the morn.
Mother and child in a blanket,
it's too early for you to be out.
You should be home, where it's warm and it's safe.
Yet here you are, walking the streets.
Where do you go at this time?
Monday, October 17, 2005
Part I - Blanchard
The first two parts of the following story told first from Blanchard's then Hollis' point of view are Urban Legends, of sorts. The Epilogue is my own addition.
* * * * *
Blanchard's interest had begun eighteen months before while browsing a second-hand book store, and one book in particular had intrigued him; not with its words but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and an insightful mind. In the front of the book, Blanchard discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell, and after some time and effort he located her address up inNew York City
He saw a young woman approach. Her figure was long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears, and her eyes were as blue as a clear summer sky. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. Such was her beauty that he started toward her, not yet aware that she was not wearing a rose.
While the young lady was just entering her twenties, Hollis Maynell was well into her thirties. Whereas the young lady's hair was light and blonde, Ms. Maynell's hair was light and greying. The contrast between the two was evident, right down to the rose on Ms. Maynell's lapel; a rose which Blanchard was now painfully aware that the pretty, young lady did not possess.
As their eyes met, Blanchard realized that Hollis had been watching him the entire time. From the corner of his eye he saw the girl in the green suit walk quickly away, and he felt as though he was being torn in two. He was filled with the urge to follow the girl, yet that desire was matched by his longing for the woman whose spirit had upheld his own during his time at war. And now she stood in front of him. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, and her brown eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle.
Blanchard possessed just enough presence of mind to thank the lady, before he turned and set off in pursuit of the "love of his life".
John claimed to have found a book of mine; one that I had marked notes in. I honestly don't remember doing it, but I was willing to accept it as truth, because that is the kind of thing I'd do, so I wrote back.
* * * * *
* * * * *
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Marine's uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He was looking for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, who had told him he would know her by the rose she'd be wearing in her lapel.
Blanchard's interest had begun eighteen months before while browsing a second-hand book store, and one book in particular had intrigued him; not with its words but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and an insightful mind. In the front of the book, Blanchard discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell, and after some time and effort he located her address up in
Blanchard wrote to Hollis and invited her to correspond with him but the next day he was shipped overseas to fight for his country in World War II. When her reply caught up to him in France,
During the next year and a half the two grew to know each other through the mail, and each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart and their romance bloomed. Several times Blanchard requested a photograph but each time Hollis refused. She said that if he really cared, it shouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe they scheduled their first meeting; 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York
Now it was 7:00pm , and Blanchard was in the station, looking for a girl whose heart he loved but whose face he'd never seen.
He saw a young woman approach. Her figure was long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears, and her eyes were as blue as a clear summer sky. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. Such was her beauty that he started toward her, not yet aware that she was not wearing a rose.
As he moved toward her she looked up at Blanchard and a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured to him. Almost uncontrollably Blanchard made one step closer, and then he saw the lady standing behind her, the lady with a rose in her lapel. Hollis Maynell.
While the young lady was just entering her twenties, Hollis Maynell was well into her thirties. Whereas the young lady's hair was light and blonde, Ms. Maynell's hair was light and greying. The contrast between the two was evident, right down to the rose on Ms. Maynell's lapel; a rose which Blanchard was now painfully aware that the pretty, young lady did not possess.
As their eyes met, Blanchard realized that Hollis had been watching him the entire time. From the corner of his eye he saw the girl in the green suit walk quickly away, and he felt as though he was being torn in two. He was filled with the urge to follow the girl, yet that desire was matched by his longing for the woman whose spirit had upheld his own during his time at war. And now she stood in front of him. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, and her brown eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle.
Blanchard gripped the worn, blue leather copy of the book that was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, perhaps something even better than love, a friendship for which he had been and must still be ever grateful. He squared his shoulders, saluted, and held out the book to the woman. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard,” he said, “and you must by Miss Maynell.” Even as he spoke the words, John felt choked by the bitterness of his disappointment. “I'm so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she asked me to wear this rose on my coat. She said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test."
Blanchard possessed just enough presence of mind to thank the lady, before he turned and set off in pursuit of the "love of his life".
* * * * *
Part II - Hollis
"I can’t believe I’m doing this," I thought to myself while in the taxi, heading toward Union Station. I was going to meet John Blanchard for the first time, although truth be told, we already knew each other so well from our correspondence.
My interest in John first started when I received a letter from him, approximately four months after my husband had been killed in the war. Perhaps that led me to hope that in John's writings, I might find a new love.
John claimed to have found a book of mine; one that I had marked notes in. I honestly don't remember doing it, but I was willing to accept it as truth, because that is the kind of thing I'd do, so I wrote back.
Almost two months passed before I received John's reply. Like my husband John had also been called away to fight in the war, and he implored me to keep writing. So we exchanged letters and during the next eighteen months we grew to know each other through the mail. I couldn't help but hope that a new romance was budding. Even my friends teased me about him.
About six months into our correspondence, John sent me a photograph of him and requested one in return. I said that if he really cared about me, it wouldn't matter what I looked like. Several times he requested a photograph and each time I refused. I told him that I wanted to look into his eyes the first time he saw my face. Finally the war ended and John was to return home.
We arranged to meet in Grand Central Station at 7:00 pm. Since I hadn’t given John a picture I told him that he would recognize me by the red rose in my lapel. He responded that he would be carrying my blue leather book, which he'd carried to Europe and back.
As the taxi pulled up to the curb I placed the rose in my lapel, paid the driver, and left the cab. My first impulse was to turn around, right there and then, and forget this whole crazy thing. Instead, I pressed on. It was just a few minutes past7:00 when I first saw John.
As the taxi pulled up to the curb I placed the rose in my lapel, paid the driver, and left the cab. My first impulse was to turn around, right there and then, and forget this whole crazy thing. Instead, I pressed on. It was just a few minutes past
I recognized him instantly; if the uniform wasn't a giveaway, the book he was carrying was enough. He was a handsome man, clean-cut and fresh from his tour of duty. He reminded me of my late husband, and a tear formed in my eye. But he had not yet seen me.
As I began to approach him, a remarkably beautiful girl dressed in an elegant emerald suit passed in front of him, and the desire in his eye was all too obvious. As she walked past he took a step in her direction before seeing me; a 35 year-old woman, just a few years past her prime, and the beauty of the young lady only accentuated the effects of time on my own appearance.
John looked longingly at the young girl as she left the station before he finally approached me, and I was more acutely aware of my homely appearance than ever before. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard," he said, taking my hand and shaking it, "and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
He tried. He really tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but I could hear it only too well. All of my fears had been realized, and I recognized that it would never work between us. Fighting back the tears I replied as cheerfully as I could, "I don't know what this is about, son, but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she asked me to wear this rose on my coat. She said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test."
That was all the convincing he needed. He thanked me and walked away. After three steps he started to run.
It was only then that I called out to him. "John, wait!" But it was too late. I turned around and walked away, crying.
Looking back on that day, I sometimes fantasize what if I was the young lady? Or if John hadn't been so quick to believe that I was? I sit here now, wondering whether or not John caught up to the young lady, and what he did when he found out that she wasn't me. What if I had just handled things a little differently. I wonder what might have been.
* * * * *
EPILOGUE
Hollis sat at the small, scarred, wooden table in her cozy kitchen in her one bedroom apartment. There wasn't a lot of room in the apartment, but Hollis wasn't someone who needed much room. Her two children from her first marriage were long grown with children of their own, and her second husband had passed away almost ten years ago now.
As the man reached out to knock again he looked up at the peephole, and Hollis looked into his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat and she took a step back in shock.
Hands trembling, she fumbled with the security bolt for several seconds before she finally managed to slide it across, then she unlocked the door and pulled it wide open to stare at the aging soldier in front of her.
His uniform was old and faded, and it hung a little in some places, but it was still very neatly pressed, and as the old soldier snapped to attention it seemed as though he and the uniform were made for each other.
Then he smiled at Hollis and she went weak at the knees and she had to lean even more heavily on the door for support.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard," he said, offering her his right hand, (a very old, very worn, blue leather-bound book was clasped in his left.) "You must be Miss Maynell. I'm glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?"
She sat quietly, sipping her cup of tea. Although she'd favored coffee in the past, a single cup left her with heartburn and kept her up half the night. The Sunday paper was open in front of her but Hollis wasn't reading it. With her hands clasped gently around the warm cup, Hollis stared out the kitchen window into the tiny backyard where a cherry tree, lit by the afternoon sun, was fighting to find its niche in the suburban jungle surrounding it.
The chimes of her doorbell broke her reverie of yesteryear, and as the notes died away they were punctuated by a knock at her front door.
"Coming!" Hollis called out, as she slowly climbed to her feet and made her way to the front of the apartment. Although it was just a short distance from the kitchen to the front door, the passing of the years had slowed Hollis down so she called out once more, just in case her unknown visitor hadn't heard her the first time. "Hold on! I'm coming!"
Peering through the peephole Hollis saw an elderly gentleman with graying hair. Something about the man's appearance spoke to Hollis and she sensed that there was no danger here. A few weeks ago, Mrs. Jenkins, the widower from three doors down, had been been beaten and robbed for opening her door to the wrong person, but as Hollis looked out at the man she couldn't help but feel she knew him from somewhere.
As the man reached out to knock again he looked up at the peephole, and Hollis looked into his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat and she took a step back in shock.
Hands trembling, she fumbled with the security bolt for several seconds before she finally managed to slide it across, then she unlocked the door and pulled it wide open to stare at the aging soldier in front of her.
His uniform was old and faded, and it hung a little in some places, but it was still very neatly pressed, and as the old soldier snapped to attention it seemed as though he and the uniform were made for each other.
Then he smiled at Hollis and she went weak at the knees and she had to lean even more heavily on the door for support.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard," he said, offering her his right hand, (a very old, very worn, blue leather-bound book was clasped in his left.) "You must be Miss Maynell. I'm glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?"
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