Nooberies

Scenario . . .

Esiwlil, a little level 6 mage just running for her life from wolves, defias gang, and spiders in Elwin forest runs into the village of Goldshire. Whew! As she stands panting in front of the inn, she sees and hears a commotion. What is that? A huge Tauren warrior, so far ahead of her in levels she can’t even see his level. The Chuck Norris of Warriors! She watches in horror as he swings his axe and kills 4 toons in 2 seconds. Her hands clench a little stick of a staff, but she has just learned a couple of new spells. She positions herself in the doorway of the inn, takes a deep breath and casts a bolt of pain. As the bolt barely touches the Tauren Hordie, she becomes “marked” and the Tauren laughs at her pitiful attempt as he slices through her without even seeming to move. She falls. Dead. She can hear the Tauren laughing even from the graveyard. As a spirit now, she runs back into the doorway where her body is laying twisted in death. Horror!

She can see that she is still marked and remains a ghost for 5 minutes. The mark goes away. She bends and caresses her own dead face and re-enters life. She is shaking a little and needs time to regain a bit of health and Mana (the force that allows her to use magic), but she is safe because she waited until she were no longer marked PVP.

The Tauren is still there. He is dancing on the body of his latest victim. Furious and fearful at the same time, the little mage yells . . . “Where are all the heros of this land!? Don’t you care that we apprentices of warcraft are being dealt death from this brute?”

Someone yells back, “Leave him alone!” or “Ignore him.” But, the mage looks around and sees that all the NPCs are dead and so she cannot speak with them. She really needs to speak with someone about this last quest, right now. But they are all dead. Killed by the Hordie, by the “THEM”.

She yells, “They are killing us all! We need help!” “Please?” She remains hopeful that some high level will come to rescue the denizens of the town of Goldshire from this horrible fate. Hordies. “They are dancing and making chicken noises at us . . . Where are the he . . .” Her voice falters as she sees a group of her allies riding (They have horses? Wow!) down the street toward the Tauren. Her allies are all very big, wearing armor that glitters and shines and they carry huge weapons.

Big fight! Tauren dies! Finally! . . . most of the others new toons make their way to the newly spawned NPCs to continue their gameplay, but not Esi. She looks at her saviors and /bows and /claps and /cheers and /dances!! She is ecstatic!! “Thank you, Thank you!!”

Those allies on horseback (they have horses!) . . /nod to her, turn and saunter back to the big city of Stormwind.

Cantique lays her fishing pole down. Looking around to be sure she is alone, she removes her clothing and walks into the water. Bending foward, Cantique ducks her head and swims underwater until she is nearly breathless. Bouncing up and gasping for air, she keeps her eyes closed and stands squishing the mud between her toes. She can feel the barest whisper of air against her exposed shoulders and her skin bumps up against the chill. Suddenly, she hears a faint splash. and ducking to her eyeballs quickly scans the area, turning slowly.

-----------------------

From the corner of my eye, I saw a faint blue-green movement in the water today as I was swimming. I resisted the urge to hurry back to shore -- I knew the movement of my body through the water would be felt by the murloc -- In fact, I was surprised it hadn't already noticed me. I stayed very still and watched as the creature swam in the shallow water across from me using its hands to feel the rocks, mud, and plants. As it turned its head toward me, I tensed, ready to cast my most effective shadow spell. As it continued its turn, I saw its white sightless eyes. How had it managed to live without sight? I watched as it dove, scrabbling quickly and re-emerged stuffing something into its mouth.

I knew that because of its blindness, its sense of temperature changes and movement of water was assuredly heightened along with its sense of hearing -- if it could hear. Of that I was unsure. I continued watching as the creature slowly made its way around the bank. I realized that my fishing pole was laying within reach of the edge of the pondwater and knew that it was only a matter of minutes before it would be discovered by the Murloc which was continuing its feel-search around the edge of the water. I didn't know what to do. I held my breath as the murloc ran its hand up the length of the pole, its finger following the line back up toward the grip. As it did so, it slowly climbed out of the water and onto the shore.

As soon as I could see it was totally free of the surface of the water, I ducked under and made my way as quickly as I dared to the opposite bank working hard to hug the bottom of the pond. Hoping that the creature was still out of the water, I put my hands into the mud and pulled myself into the shallows and out onto the mudbank behind some tall reeds. Nothing happened. I stood up, mud streaming slowly down my body and looked for the murloc. He wasn't on the bank by my fishing pole. I saw movement on top of the water and bent forward, squinting against the setting sun...The bottom corner of my woven creel was sticking up in the water, making small ripplets. It had taken my fresh catch and was swimming across the pond with it. I stood and watched as it left the pond and disappeared over a small rise dragging my fish with it. Well. No fish for lastmeal today.
------------------------------
Cantique carefully pushes the tiny cork into her ink bottle and resharpens the nib of her quill with a small knife. After tucking her paper in the keepbox and setting the writing utensils on top, she turns back to her table. She picks up her dinner dish and carries it outside to set out under a tree at the edge of her clearing for the night creatures to find. She hears the sound of a Murloc warbling happily in the distance as she sets the leftover fin soup on the ground.

I am tired of this place. Stormwind.

Scrounging for food. Hoping for peace. I will not beg. How long will I
torture myself? I need a heart balm. My trees. My fragrant home.

I saw him again. The one I fear. The one I long to hide behind. He
smells of protection and danger. Speaking with him is like speaking with a
tree. Rough bark. Living. Essential. Has he lost his roots? I cannot
know.

I marked him once. He was not ready then. Now, he has been with these
others so long the marking does not matter to him. It matters to me. He
seems to have forgotten the depths of his kind. Forgotten his heart. He
cannot smell me.

I am . . . preparing to leave. This place. Nothing holds me.

I want to lick my fur. Roll on the ground. Have my feral neck bitten by
the one stronger than me to hold me. By the one that smells familiar. I
want to snap and snarl and have it be understood. These smooth skins do not
know. There is no depth in them.

When I leave I will not mark this place. It is not my territory.

This place hates me.

I heard he could be found in the cavernous city of Ironforge. As I rode the
oily smelling transport, I tried to think how to approach him. My muscles
tensed. Why was I wary? Upon arrival, I stealthed and wandered in the
firegut below the ways like a coward. I found him easily enough. He was
sitting on his mount. Just sitting. Alone. I turned and ran out of the mountain and sat panting in the snow.

I don’t know what I wanted. Maybe just to speak with someone. There are no
friends. I am afraid if I stay feral too long from fear or loneliness, I will lose myself again. I wish I knew what happened before. I wish I could remember. Does he know secrets I should know?

Stop. Tears do no good. So, I went back. I paced. I shifted and made myself speak to him. He stayed on his mount. Scent of what? Not fear. Perhaps anticipation? I asked about his brother. He had no real news. Something about tasks somewhere. I told him I ran from his brother because I did not want to hurt the innocent. He said,

“Do you know about his past? He was an assassin.”

I did not mean he was innocent of blood. I meant he was innocent of heart.

I asked about his lovers, again nothing. Are all druids alone in their
mind?

I trembled as I spoke with him.

This is a dark place. This hard mountain.

I hate this place. Stormwind.

I lay stealthed, cat behind a bush. Enjoying the dappled sunlight on my fur. Warm. I fell asleep. Someone stepped on the tip of my tail. I made no noise. Stone still. Squinting my eyes against a ray of light, I looked to see who was standing on me. A tiny male. He had on a blue tabard. That ’s all. He walked around the bush and I poked my head through the low branches to watch him.

He walked toward a group. Strutted. The others began laughing. One of them threw up her hands and shook her head. The tiny man said,

“I am dressed like Nana.”

I looked to my right. The short woman I met on my journey was there, mouth
open. Sputtering. Red faced. More laughter. It sounded nice. I grinned. It was a game…this dressing thing. I watched as several of them changed garments. Nana (is that her name?) came behind the bush and I watched as
she put on some very colorful items. When she went back to the others, I
heard groans…I saw the smile on her face as she turned around, letting the
others see all of her.

Then. The fun ended. A woman sat twirling her knives behind the group. A
dark man pulled a knife. People began yelling. The tiny man called his mount and left, leaving the throng of loud, knife wielding people behind him. Smart. No scent of fear. Nana left too. Scent of confusion.

Posturing. Stomping. Screaming. Scent of anger, scent of fear. I watched
in horror as a male was stabbed in the throat. More rattling weapons and
voices. I left.

So. Others find it hard to survive this city as well. Strangely I am reassured by that. Comforted. This haven of nature is suffering. It seems the verbal and physical clashes among the denizens of this place are escalating.

I hate this place.
Honorless.

_____________________________

Eliment

Nanaive. She stands there knowing. In this city I hate. She advised me to leave. I trusted her. Now I have no friends. Here. Or there.

I know her because she walked with me during the journey. My long walk which began when the male druid said to me, “Go”.

I was stumbling from weariness as the moon rose on my third night of walking. A short dark-haired female was standing just at the edge of the trees which lined the path. She waved. I almost shifted. I wasn’t sure what she was. Almost as wide as she was tall with a soft smile, she nodded and yelled greetings. I looked around. She was speaking at me.

“Whut are ye doin’ oot here? This time o’ tha night?”

She had a staff in one hand and a small lamp held high in the other. The flame of the clay lamp flickered as her breath brushed it. I did not speak. I stood in a slight crouch hoping she would turn and go. She did not.

Time stretched. The moonlight flickered with passing clouds and soon disappeared completely. I could smell snow. The only light was that tiny flame. I watched the flame descend and settle onto the earth. I smelled her. Wildflowers and meat. Smoke. I heard twigs snapping and watched as the tiny candleflame moved, disappeared, and then blossomed into a small
campfire.

The short woman unrolled a wolfhide onto the ground and sat. I waited. Snow began to waft down caressing the skin of my bare arms. I shivered. The woman added a larger piece of wood to the flame.

“Coom over here. Ye are welcome ta sit and warm yurself”.

She indicated the fire and the warm hide. I cautiously sidled toward the fire and sat on the very edge of the hide, making sure to keep my feet off the fur. I didn’t shift into my heavy form and lumber off because I was more afraid of that than of her. I did not.

There in the wilderness, she quietly shared her food with me. Later she led as I followed with the wolf hide across my shoulders, holding it closed against the chill. For the first time I could remember, I slept in a cottage. I lay on the floor in front of her fireplace. I watched the flames and listened to her snore. So I met Nanaive.

I hate this place.
Stormwind.

I walked into one of those dimly lit places in the park. I stood quietly, waiting for my twolegs eyesight to adjust. A woman stomped up to me and pointed at my feet and legs. She smelled of indignation.
“Get out! You cannot come in here without shoes and you must have something on your legs as well.”

I blinked at her. She frowned and pointed at the door. I shifted to feral, clothed in fur. She screamed.

“No ANIMALS in here either!”

I stealthed, feeling an emotion I did not really recognize. It was an awful, self defeating feeling. Totally useless. I surely do not need to fight with my OWN heart or head! So I shrugged it off never to look at it again.

I went away and dug through what little I had in my packs. I had a vivid pink dress that someone had cast aside in a bush. The material was good. No sense in letting it rot on the ground. I also found a scarf of similar color. This covered my hair completely. I put my boots on. Gloves on.Bracers on.I went back to the dark room.

She was standing there near the entryway. She laughed derisively and said to a woman standing nearby,“Could you get any MORE pink?”They laughed and pointed. I turned around. No one else was there. They were laughing at me. Because I put on boots and covered my legs as requested?

Rules. Unwritten rules.

She let me in.I sat down. Others were there. The odor of sweat mingled with blood, the scent of flowers (odd, I didn’t see any flowers) and an overpowering smell of rotten fruit. I watched as a man was pouring this smelly thinned out rotten fruit juice into a woman. She let him! He saw me watching. He raised the mug over his head and winked. Then he drank. So. Not poison.

I arose from my seat. As I walked toward the counter built along the back of the room, I had to step around a person who was half on his chair and half on the floor. Thinking he was ill, I leaned in to look more closely at his face. Vacant eyes. He was short like Nanaive. He belched and I felt the wind of it on my face. Sweet and sour scent. One of his eyes found mine and he grinned.“Ach! Oolmost as good tha second time in me mouf, ‘twas!”His voice was like listening to a saw against a rock.

I flinched. HE GRABBED ME! (Later, as he was wrapping his shredded hand in bandages I heard him tell someone he slipped while playing with his blade.)I went outside where the smell and noise is diluted by, well, by other noises and other smells. I just stood there against a tree. I caressed the bark and pressed my face against it glad to be out. What would those tears accomplish? I stopped.I hate this place.Unkindness.(Eliment)