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Post by Archivist~Bel on Feb 21, 2006 10:19:18 GMT -5
What Seemed a Simple Headache... Author: Stumm Link: forums.worldofwarcraft.com/thread.aspx?fn=wow-realm-scarletcrusade&t=159507&p=1&tmp=1#post159507Stumm rubbed at his temple with a groan, trying terribly hard to undo the machinations at work within his skull. For you see, simple reader, Stumm felt like $!@%. Or, more accurately, felt like more $!@% than usual. Blissful morning broke over the Bluffs, golden rays of sunshine streaming out over the wind-hewn rock alighting upon every surface available to catch them. The small Bluff Lake glimmered with the glow of a hundred jewels, as a light breeze wafted over the tents and huts of the Tauren. Beads and ornaments jingled in the breeze, the sounds of the city waking up becoming clearer. One Stumm, subtitle "The Bold", leaned against the straining mailbox on both elbows, eyes shut tightly and hands clutching the sides of his head. Most of his battle gear was still lying on the upper floor of the inn just behind him, the Shaman's wrinkled royal purple shirt drinking in the sunlight. A rumbling groan escaped his clenched teeth as the Shaman's chest rose and fell. It seemed a simple headache. It had all started the night before, taking in the sunrise quietly on the flight tower. A simple headache, that progressed to a light fever, that ended up with the Tauren spending a night of quiet misery on the rug in the local inn, trying to refuse the ministrations administered to him. He wasn't very clever. But this wasn't just a headache anymore. The night before, Stumm had felt something was wrong. Just a feeling of... wrongness, something being off, something being forgotten. And now, grasping the sides of his hammering skull and trying to beat back his surmounting fever, Stumm caught on that something just might be. It was among the worst pains that Stumm had ever experienced. Not just for the sheer intensity, but for the helplessness, the knowing that no amount of Shamanic power could mend a headache. Being able to do nothing else but stand there and take it, being able to do nothing to end the torment... Throwing himself up off the mailbox, Stumm floundered back for a second before regaining his balance. Some would call him tremendously ill. He would say "under the weather". Clomping shakily under the inn's eaves, leaning against a wall with a trembling hand, Stumm slowly began to climb the hewn-log ramp to the upper level. Sitting down on a simple hay bed, careful not to fall over and flip over the other side, Stumm took a moment to pause for breath. He was sweating profusely now, too. Not a cooling sweat, a heated sweat, a fevered sweat. Something was wrong. Almost reluctantly, Stumm knelt to his assorted battlegear and began donning it, his usually firm grip as he tightened straps and loose buckles strained and weak. The Tauren rose to two legs, his archaic and runed helm in hand. The ancient and delicately worked kilt he wore still gleamed in faint candlelight, the plates seamlessly flowing together in perfect craftsmanship. His Frostwolf tabard straightened crisp, although a slight darkening from sweat was already beginning to appear. The gauntlets of the Earthfury were tight on his hands, the thick wristguards flowing eternally with ever-heated lava. His shoulders bore the massive epaulets of the Earthfury, ancient black metal streaming with lava worn proudly. Lifting the cold, mechanical Lava Dredger in his free hand, Stumm sighed but once before donning his helm, all signs of fatigue vanishing as the carefully forged elemental focuser went to work, Stumm's very eyes burning with concentrated energy as it did so. Back straight, armour donned, weapon in hand, nobody would ever tell exactly what was wrong with the Tauren. And, if he had his way, nobody would. Something was wrong. And, under the weather or not, Stumm was going to figure out what it was.
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Post by Archivist~Alabaster on Mar 2, 2006 10:37:33 GMT -5
STUMM:
The work that a Shaman did was a unique sort.
There were no bargains to be drawn with foreign intelligences, as with Warlocks. No higher powers as with the Light and Shadow. No alternate world such as the Emerald Dream to draw from. The Elements where in the here, in the now, extremely visible if one cared to look, and each Shaman's relationship with them was different.
Some saw themselves as servants to the Elements, working the whims of Storm, Earth and Fire. Others saw themselves as craftsmen wielding tools for their own purposes and art.
However, Stumm had made his choice a long time ago.
He was no servant to these Elements, no, but neither were they tools for him to use. The Tauren had decided early in his "career" that while the Elements were there to be used, they could not reliably be used for one's own gain, and needed to be put to some higher purpose. For some bizarre reason, this philosophy seemed to resonate with the base elemental spirits, and so for years The Bold enjoyed a greater than usual elemental connection.
However, the task he was going to apply it to upon this night was definitely a difficult one.
Stumm knelt in front of a roaring fire, the skies of Mulgore in front of him overcast and dark in the night. Wind and rain whipped about his form, the earth solid below him.
The Shaman still sweat profusely, even kneeling clad only in a simple kodohide kilt. Sweat and rainwater mixed and flowed down his bare torso and arms in contorted rivulets, each taking a winding path through the countless spiderwebbings of scars crossing the Tauren's body. Grey hair and thick mane were matted in the deluge, the thickly muscled chest rising and falling far too quickly for someone simply sitting in the rain.
Stumm's eyes were tightly shut, eyes flickering behind their lids. Veins and tendons stood out just under the thick skin as he tensed, stretching a hand before him.
Stumm was attempting to divine the source of his wrong.
Not hesitant in sticking his scarred fist into the whipping flames, the fire began to curl and twist around the Shaman's forearm and hand, mixing with whipping whorls of wind and rainwater slinging around in the same space. Rich green energy spontaneously flowed from the earth like steam from a pot, mixing with the other three unique streams to form a twirling corkscrew of colour and light around the Shaman's extended limb, the whole scene radiating a unique sort of power.
Taking a deep breath, eyes still tightly clenched, Stumm brought the massive fist closer to his face, the whirling array of Elements growing tighter and tighter. Just above the Shaman's fist, the corkscrew tightened, each unique curling stream catching the tip of the others at exactly the same time. A brilliant light flared through the night of Mulgore.
Eyes snapping open, phrasing a single powerful question and simply one powerful question in his mind, Stumm stared directly into the four merged corkscrews and forced all his will towards an answer.
~~~
REIZA:
Reiza had sat with Stumm all night, though his fever finally subsided around dawn. She had watched him sleep, gently wiping the sweat from his brow, and trying to keep him as comfortable as she could. She had noticed him stirring, and decided that he should probably eat when he woke up. She laid down her cloth and water skin beside him, and walked quietly out of the inn. Her clothes were a mess, and there were large bags under her eyes from staying awake the entire night.
She yawned and stumbled across the lower rise, up to the second, trying to find something decent for the ailing shaman.
She mumbled to herself in Trollish as she waited for a Tauren woman to finish some type of... Fel, Reiza didn’t know what it was. But it smelled good at it looked like something Stumm could keep down in his state. She paid the woman and gave her a nod, before carting the steaming bowl of thickened liquid back to the inn.
She walked slowly up the ramp, being careful not to spill anything. But when she turned the corner that led to the sleeping area of the inn, she found it empty. Not even the shaman’s armor was left. Everything was gone, except for a sweaty spot on the floor where he had spent the night in fever.
Infuriated, Reiza threw the bowl of food at the wall and let out an inhuman screech. She cursed furiously in Trollish and picked up her Massacre sword, quiver, and crossbow from the floor. Sword in hand, she left the inn, pausing only for a moment as she passed through the threshold. She spun violently, embedding her sword deep within the doorframe of the building, shrieking out more curses before yanking the sword back out.
Stumm may have been sick, but Reiza had it in mind to show him an entire new world of pain.
~~~
STUMM:
As the wyvern tighened in a spiral around one of the many rock pillars of the Thousand Needles, as the air whipped past Stumm's lowered head, as the creature straightened out and headed further south once more, Stumm pondered how he was going to die.
Dawn was just breaking over the horizon, rich golden light sweeping across the landscape and setting the stone alight with dazzling fires. Back at the Bluff, Reiza would be rising shortly, blanketed with a massive Frostwolf tabard fit for a Tauren and with her dangerously ill ward missing. As the wyvern plunged into another dive, Stumm grinned arbitrarily. He had weathered the initial storm of her wrath, but after managing to talk her into some rest of her own with the promise of staying put...
If he lived through this next divination attempt, he was a dead man.
The work he had done in Mulgore was risky, and things had gotten out of hand. A cold hand of fear crept up Stumm's spine as he considered what had happened, how the Elemental energy had built up and... reacted. The explosive cast him about fifteen feet, blowing him through a tree. He rubbed the ribs on his left side, wincing. Elemental power never got out of hand. It never got out of hand unless there was some other hand controlling it from another point.
Un'Goro would be the key. The land resonated with natural and elemental energies; and it had the crystals. Those Un'Goro Crystals would act as an excellent focuser for this next attempt.
Pressing himself against the wyvern as it made another swoop, Stumm grit his teeth and tried not to think of what would happen to him if he made it back to the Bluffs alive. Something was wrong. He had to figure it out.
~~~
REIZA:
The mornings on Thunder Bluff were always quite chilly, but Reiza had gotten used to the slight breeze. This morning, however, she wasn’t cold at all...
In fact she was warm and perfectly comfortable. She rolled over with a groan, clutching the blanket to her chin.
Blanket?
She hadn’t gone to bed with any blanket on...
And... the blanket smelled like Stumm.
Reiza leapt off the bed, pushing whatever cover lay atop her to the floor with a desperate flailing motion. Her heart was racing, and she stood there, in the middle of the inn, panting from her sudden awakening.
Why the Fel did her bed smell like STUMM?! He wouldn’t have... No... he knew that she’d kill him if he ever...
She shuddered involuntarily and picked the light blue material up off of the floor. His Frostwolf Tabard...
No wonder she had thought it was a blanket... the Tauren-sized tabard was monstrous in comparison to the Troll that held it.
And that explained the smell too... Stumm always wore this thing...
Reiza paused for a moment, holding the tabard in front of her, looking at the white wolf insignia. She traced her finger slowly around the ring that encompassed the face of the wolf, thinking back on what Stumm had told her about the war he fought.
In all honesty, she couldn’t give a $!@% less about the war, but she knew how much it meant to Stumm... and to leave his tabard behind? His tabard that he wore so proudly everyday? That he was too stubborn to take off when he was ill?
She folded the cloth carefully and tucked it into her bag.
She had noticed that he was gone, and part of her mind was still raging about it, but she felt no need to track him down. Not today at least.
She had something that was very important to him, so she knew that he’d be back for it.
...Unless of course he died...
But Stumm was far too stubborn for that, and besides... she needed to go see someone anyway...
Stumm might be too stubborn to get help, but he needed to get well. Reiza donned her gold-trimmed armor and walked out into the morning sun. She whistled Revenge to her side with a grin.
"Come on Rebenge... we got ahsefs a cowlady ta find..."
~~~
STUMM:
Un'Goro was a, despite the seeming oddity of the native wildlife, extremely natural land.
Great trees towered into the skies, insects buzzed through the air, animals of all kinds frolicked and hunted. But most importantly to the Tauren who walked amongst it all at the moment was the rich elemental power coursing through the landscape.
There were vast cliffs ringing Un'Goro, hot springs with a depth of fathoms. The air itself coursed with life, the ominous Fire Plume Ridge boiling in the middle of the crater.
It was at the top of this ridge that one weary and exhausted-looking Tauren stood, the wrathful fire elementals below him willing to play it ignorant in return for their continued corporeality.
Stumm knelt to the great circle of glimmering light surrounding him, the construct set delicately in the ash and dirt piece by piece after hours spent harvesting the raw crystal. The ring was composed of alternating prisms of green, red, yellow, and blue crystal, set in alternating order all around the loop. A bizarre thumming filled the air, each of the crystals possessing a light that winked out and proceeded to the next crystal in the circle in an infinite loop.
Rising again to his feet, if a little shakily, Stumm cast a glance to the sky. Although all he caught was the Un'Goro canopy, he knew there was nightfall beyond it. Dark night for dark times. He held down a chuckle.
Spreading his arms wide, the same corkscrew flows of power appeared as before around both forearms, coalescing from the sheer energy coursing through Un'Goro. The crystals at the Shaman's hooves began to pulse in unison, faster and faster as the corkscrews tightened and spun. The rhythm of each climaxed to a unified crackle of power, a blinding light sweeping up from the of crystals below to engulf the Tauren.
An observer from the Tanaris side, looking down into the Crater, might have spotted a brief flare amongst the dark treetops.
Light dimmed, peace returned to the jungle. In a smouldering ring of ordinary rocks, there lay the body of one still, unmoving Tauren Shaman, his clothing caught fire in places as the chirrups and whistles of a sleeping jungle slowly came back to intensity.
~~~
STUMM:
If one were to stand at the eastern edge of the THunder Bluff lake, and were the day quiet enough that sunny afternoon, one would have heard a faint trail of complex, vicious and creative curses unobstrusively streaming from some inderminate point.
Furthermore, if one were to turn to one's left, walk into the inn, nod to the innkeeper, proceed up the ramp to the second level, turn right, walk to the wall, turn right again, and proceed along the walkway to the inn's sleeping area, there would one come across a particularly foul-mooded Tauren clutching his head in both hands and muttering that very string of curses that floated down the space, out the door and onto the lake.
Stumm sat with his back to the wall, piles of battlegear set beside the bed on which his scarred body lay, a rough blanket d#@!&d over the Tauren's massive form as he sat there. His torso was bare, burns and sc#@!&s swathing great patches of flesh, and a damp cloth was absentmindedly placed on the grey titan's forehead.
He had been found by an enterprising and curious Orc early that morning, who upon noticing that while the body before him was in fact burning, it still carried a hint of life. Feeling quite the rescuer, that Orc shared the transportative powers of his Hearthstone with the ailing Shaman, and upon arrival at the Bluffs the unconscious Shaman was forcibly taken into the care of the tyrannical innkeeper, who had finally caught on that the dashing young bull who spent those long nights upstairs with that quiet troll woman was in fact horribly ill. Stumm had tried half a dozen times already to leave, but each time he was hounded back to his sick bed with angry glares and a skilfully wielded broom.
Two hands, one pair, each bearing two fingers and a thumb, clamped down on the Shaman's head as the headache that plagued him grew in intensity. The conscious part of his mind thought that maybe this was what it was like to have your brain trapped in a slowly-tightening flaming vise set with knives. Even the Tauren's carefully concealed but still-raging fever was minor compared to the wracking pains this headache delivered.
No, decided that conscious part of his brain. This is not a headache. Aches are just aches. This is violent, cruel torture. Violent, cruel torture to the HEAD.
He still had no answer. The curses still sailed out over the lake.
~~~
NOKORA:
Nokora had forgotten just how hot the jungles of Stranglethorn could be. A few hours spent gathering leather (as she had opted to call it in lieu of “slaughtering innocent animals for her sewing pursuits”), had quickly reminded her.
Her claws sliced through the scales of a young basilisk along the Southern Savage Coastline, readying herself to deliver a final blow. She didn’t have time, however, before a huge brown worg nearly barreled her over to get to the beast. An arrow thudded deep into the basilisk’s neck, and the fight was over.
Nokora shifted out of her lioness form, turning to face her helpers. A smile spread across her face as the familiar Troll woman approached.
“Heya Cowlady,” Reiza greeted her.
“Good afternoon, Troll lady,” she answered, smirking.
“I hab a fabah to ask joo.” The huntress looked both ways, causing Nokora to quirk an eyebrow.
“How can I help?”
“Well,” Reiza started. “Stumm is sick. An’… I know dat joor a healah…”
Nokora smiled softly, concerned, but intrigued. She asked into the nature of this “sickness,” and the Troll explained all she knew. Stumm was having a fever, headaches, but that he wasn’t really sick in the body, but just in the head.
It took little explanation and asking to get Nokora to agree to help Stumm. But she had to admit she was a bit shocked. She looked Reiza over, then spoke.
“I’m… glad you asked me. I kind of guess you aren’t one for doing that often. But… if we can find him, maybe we can both pressure him into ‘fessing up about his problems, hm?”
Reiza grinned. “He needs help. An’ he won’ go an’ find it. So I’m bringin’ it to him.”
“You’ll find that’s how you have to deal with him on all issues. Boy wouldn’t eat if he didn’t trip over a carcass every now and then.”
“Joor tellin’ me…” Reiza rolled her eyes, smirking up at Nokora.
The girls discussed his location, and, unfortunately, neither had much of a clue where Stumm could be at the moment. Reiza seemed assured that the Tauren would come to her when he was ready, but Nokora wasn’t sure they had that kind of time. Huntress and pet took their leave after a short, though pleasant, discourse about family.
Noko turned to face the beach, sighing softly. For Stumm to even mention that he had pain, a fever, any kind of sickness… it must be bad. And naturally, he had gone running instead of staying to deal with the people who might actually care about him.
”Dammit, Stumm… We will find you. Somehow.”
Nokora bundled up the stacks of leather she had gathered today, stuffed them in her bags, and rubbed her Hearthstone to get some salt off it. “Thunder Bluff, ahoy. We’ve got a Red Admiral to find.”
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