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66. Duality of Duty
🕑 Added 2025-06-17 15:30:37 +0000 UTCCoins.
Coins were great, the fuel for life's greatest pleasures and amenities, in Jarem's humble opinion.
Contradictory as it may seem for a tauren, a member of the Runetotem tribe, and a druid on top of that.
Alas, the truth was unchanged by the less glamorous morality surrounding it.
Jarem's tribe's allegiance to the Wild had changed much of their daily lives; rekindling the art of druidism was not the limit.
There were many implications for the growing schisms in their views on where their people should tread, with rising tension in Thunder Bluff serving as the most striking proof.
More than there had been at its inception.
Taurens may bridge some of the difference between the Horde and Wild, but this was fragile.
They had never been united as a whole; the present was no different, and the Grimtotem tribe was hardly the only one to have acted for its own gains first.
It was the norm in this harsh world. Peaceful did not equate passive, and two governments with opposing views and a prior history of conflict in one shared territory could last for only so long.
Thunder Bluff was divided in more ways than one, two-thirds to the Wild and the remaining percentage to the Horde.
It was a mirror to a daunting reality.
The once-synonymous belief of the taurens drifted apart as bullheadedness, deluded by honor, made it unrecognizable from the Horde side.
Or so it was Jarem's opinion, one that was neither unique nor rare among his kin. Even the ancestors were growing divided, and it was unprecedented. Ties were breaking, and they were breaking fast.
The whisper from their Horde counterparts regarding allying with some of the less aggressive centaur clans in response to the quilboars was only another source of division.
He couldn't wrap his head around how Cairne Bloodhoof was supporting any of this. This was desecrating the Earthmother and her children.
Perhaps a portion of the pollution was cleansed and recycled. Mayhaps most of the elements did not rage.
However, the natural world's slow destruction was unmistakable—namely, the craving for lumber and general abysmal care about the space taken. The Horde method of farming was no better and was filled with poisons.
Balance was not limited to the four primal forces born of the Earthmother's blood, heart, breath, and bowels.
Even then, shamans of the Earthen Ring were growing apart, or so the Runetotem druid heard from the rumors.
It was unfortunate. A tragedy. But a future that became clearer day by day.
But under the Wild's protective leaves, the taurens flourished without this wrongdoing.
Safety and stability had never been greater, despite the tension and potential split of the ancient council of shamans.
Above all else stood the economy, with coins as its beating heart and lifeblood. And Jarem grew to love it.
The Wild wasn't lacking in terms of obtaining riches; however, the greatest gain came with the greatest risk. Or benefit to the Wild.
He joined the Cenarion Circle, where he learned much and did even more; money wasn't lacking there. This motivation was born there.
But his heart wanted more. He didn't fully know why, but it did.
Then came the Wild Hunt, created in response to a near civil war caused by a fringe extremist group of lunatics that were swiftly hunted to extinction outside the few cowards still on the flight.
This very same organization hunted them.
It changed everything.
This was an organization closest to the Council from all branches and roots of the immense tree that was the Wild, recruiting from all ways of life without restraining the former.
Uniqueness wouldn't begin to describe it; less orderly than the Cenarion Circle, nor as strict as the Sentinel Army, nor as lawful as the Watchers, yet to remain within was praiseworthy enough by itself.
The name was misleading in that it wasn't an order of regular hunters, nor was hunting itself the primary purpose.
They were the venators of dangers; they tracked, studied, and pursued them in order to exterminate them with ruthless efficiency.
Joining the ranks was no problem; it was open to all within the Wild who were of mature age.
Training and resources were allocated, but it wasn't without equal expectations.
In exchange, after they were judged ready, results were demanded, and a lack thereof wasn't taken lightly if the reasons were found to be lacking.
Everyone within the Wild was free to enter, but a fraction had the sheer capabilities to stay. Loyalty and morality weren't ignored as well. Those weren't mere mercenaries the Council inducted as its enforcers.
The standards were high and rightfully so. However, those who failed to meet them and were earnest weren't abandoned.
They would be helped, redirected to other paths for growth, and allowed to try again later down the line.
This was the premier and most versatile tool of the Wild Council against threats from the inside and outside, where the three primary branches would prove ineffective alone.
They were the connection between the roots.
It gathered every leaf, leveraged their talents, and sent them where they were most needed, creating an elite, highly versatile force.
They were known by many titles, as there was no official designation; there was no proper rank or intricate chain of command. It was ever-shifting, changing to fit the needs of the moment and based on past merit.
The only constant was the Wild Hunt.
They obeyed the Wild Council and any carrying their authority while working symbiotically with the broader body of the Wild.
They weren't outside of the system, merely able to shift between them; joining the Hunt did not sever past ties. It couldn't be further from the truth.
In many ways, it was an honor that came with responsibility, risk, and naturally, riches.
Jarem found 'adventurer' to be his favorite term to describe himself and his fellow members of the Wild Hunt.
They walked uncharted ground, following the footsteps of the heroes of the past war against the demon and undead.
And it paid handsomely with rewards and benefits that not even gold could buy, such as de-aging, rare potions, augmentation, whether it be a blessing or a ritual, or artifacts.
Things reserved for the worthy that, although obtainable normally as a whole, weren't quite as accessible. Even then, it was anything but common and simple; the Wild Hunt's requirements existed for a purpose.
They saved the fools from an early grave, though fatalities remained high, even with the rise in biomancers and said requirements.
Compensations were given in those unpleasant eventualities to what or whom the dead adventurers had preemptively chosen. If not, the closest blood relative was the receiver.
Less shining yet equally important were economic aid and opportunities for their children. Although those were more widespread, they were still reserved for those risking their lives and gifted.
It was only natural that a young male tauren with ambition and a lot to prove, like Jarem, joined.
This life of danger and discovery brought his two greatest passions while serving the greater good. There was no nobler purpose and honor than to be part of the Wild Hunt.
What was there not to love?
The tauren druid found himself with his treant friend over him, as armor, in the hot and humid jungle of a distant continent, for this reason.
It was an urgent matter related to a threat he was familiar with and despised: the Emerald Nightmare. He remembered clearly what it did when infesting the waking.
How could he?
The Wailing Caverns had been an unpleasant experience.
He was disemboweled, lost an arm and a hand there, all healed, but it had been close, reinforcing the absolute necessity of eradicating the Nightmare in the Dreaming.
And in this hot and humid jungle on the other side of Azeroth, the threat was more than the Emerald Nightmare.
He came with twenty-four other adventurers from an elusive dryad to a diminutive kobold,dark troll assassin, but they weren't here alone. Sentinels and druids were here, their number higher.
Green dragons were among them as well, some in visage forms hidden in the mass, their presence making it clear that this was no petty task.
And they were all listening to a young, brown-furred furbolg standing over a large map laid out vertically.
The faint trace of electric blue in his eyes and fur gleaming softly under the moonlight as his measured voice carried far and wide.
"-ur spies have mapped the Sunken Temple. A papyrus copy of it would be handed to your squad leader. Now to the strategy…" Karhu trailed, his nimble paws moved across the board with an elegant smoothness very few kaldorei sentinels could boast.
Precise. Calculated. Optimized.
That was this furbolg. His sister, far larger than even his large frame, stood to his right and was no different.
Her burning golden eyes, with alertness veiled in innocence, and the gold shine of her brown fur showed this much. Her mere gaze brought an instinctual, primal response to the weaker of hearts.
She could be mistaken for an ursa totemic if not for the lack of tattoos and metallic claws. And the comparisons weren't stopping at aesthetics.
Individually, they were skilled and powerful, but together… They carried the might and wisdom of the Twin Bears, and it was more than metaphorical.
Their presence was reassuring to Jarem. Dragons were hardly comforting, friends of the Wild or not. He knew they were allies, but they were legends to him until recently. Legends speak of devouring taurens alive, even if those were of obsidian scales.
He wasn't afraid of danger, quite the contrary. He would have remained as a druid, favoring a safe mission in the Cenarion Circle.
None of them were, but that didn't mean recklessness was to their liking, barring some exceptions.
Exceptions, Jarem preferred to steer clear of, as they generally sought to cause the most damage at the cost of teamwork.
Having the younger siblings of the Bear of Resilience present was reassuring nonetheless. As were the green dragons, even if it put into perspective the importance of this mission
And furbolgs to such a mission was counterintuitive if these weren't those two, not that they were the sole furbolgs here.
The bear men weren't fragile, but their deep tie to nature made them especially vulnerable to the treacherous embrace of the Nightmare. Not that anyone was ever remotely safe from it.
But in the physical realm, this inflection wasn't as pervasive and volatile.
And from what Jarem had learned, today they would not be fighting the Nightmare infestation directly, but corruption remained on the list.
And this weakness wasn't insurmountable.
Training, tools, and equipment were mandatory among all races, but better stuff was limited. Power and quality came with a price of time and resources.
Furbolgs were more demanding to be anywhere as protected, which was anything but foolproof, while still being more vulnerable, like a tauren would in Northrend against a blizzard.
Therefore, they were scarce in such missions by simple virtue of the above. But when a furbolg came, you knew you had an invaluable friend at your back.
Karhu and Hukar were the perfect example.
They streamlined most of the process and were the most common liaison to the Council, being one of the founding members of the Wild Hunt with a Representative as elder brother.
"Adventurers will be split into five teams of five. One for the bottom, second, and fifth floor, two to the fourth." Karhu paused, letting the information settle.
Then he added with an easy grin, "As usual, you may keep what you find that is not one of our targets after it's screened for curses and purified of any taints. Further details about each floor will be given and reinforcement sent as we follow and avoid you getting choked by the atal'ai troll."
"First, however, we will kick the hornet's nest and keep a tight seal on it for you to slip inside. The Council demands that none of those heretics is to breathe again after we finish with this accursed temple. Go wild."
•••••
"I'm here, Ma, Pa." My deep voice echoed through the living-log den. Of course, it was unnecessary, but if I were to operate like this, life would be bleak.
Visiting Greenpaw Village caused quite a commotion, even though I went at times when I knew there would be less activity. It was inevitable, but I couldn't miss the opportunity.
With my life as it is now, I rarely come here these days.
It was not that I didn't want to, but I was busy, and a Dream Portal wasn't built there; the closest ones were in Hollowmaw and Hyjal Summit. There were only so many hours a day.
My point was that my parents probably knew I was arriving the moment my bloodwing bat was spotted.
So, a good five minutes at the least, and bursting out the door came my mother, with wide eyes, a raw salmon skewer in her paw, and my father came right after, an easy smile over his muzzle.
He moved first, nuzzling me as I leaned down to meet him, and my mother followed right after. Licks and sniffs to make sure each was good were exchanged as part of the course.
This done, I stood higher, my eyes lingering on the salmon a second longer than strictly necessary, earning an amused snort from her.
"What is the honor of our proverbial cub's surprise visit? Any mate?" Da said with pride and amusement, his eyes shifting to look for something unseen.
My ears shifted back, and my tail flicked as I tried to avoid his gaze, making him only laugh. He was the only one who could make me act like that.
Me!
I did have an ego, that much was evident, but I was the Furbolg Representative, and that was the least notable thing about me. It was embarrassing yet exceptionally grounding.
"True, ancestors know this is high off your youth, Ohto! With that funny pandaren wandering back home, you're all alone. Groot's… disappearance doesn't help. It can't be good. And it means no grandcubs…" Ma added, with a soft, loving tone, yet thinly veiled worry was evident.
"Nah, I'm teasing you. You never changed, still the same cub, even with all your growth from the Twins' trial." The male of the pair followed, and I sighed, round ears moving back up.
It was a point I had been fearful of like no other. To be seen as a monster to the eyes of those that mattered the most—it would have hurt beyond any physical wound.
An irrational fear, but constant. Biomancy by fact alone was not anathema to necromancy. What I did and showed was, however, I didn't seek to inflict pain, but it was part of the process.
I did not rejuvenate both my parents and others without extensively refining the process.
It was highly personalized for each person and species, but there was a baseline; several hundred died first.
The same applies to everything beyond the surface level; even then, it wasn't basic. I had to.
I didn't come and flick my claws and bam… dozens are revived without prior trials. Oh, ancestors, I knew how much I wished it to be as easy.
It just wasn't.
And when biomancy fails, it fails hard with screams, sobs, and begging as flesh and bones mutate violently into cancerous growths with their mind warping.
Prisoners, clones or not, eldritch was the fitting description when I messed up. I didn't see much of a problem with it.
I slept well, though I knew others would disagree if they grasped the suffering involved for a result that was close to perfection.
"I know, and no. But it's not a problem. Really. Ask the twins for cubs, Ma. And I just came to say hello…" I trailed off, and it was the truth. When the opportunity arose, I seized it.
I felt like Ohto of the Greenweald again, with them, and not someone detached from the rest of the world, with responsibility woven into duty and reinforced by purpose.
Funny that even with a second cubhood, I never appreciate it to its full extent. Even if I didn't have much of a chance.
But it's worth it if even one cub in the Wild can keep them free of those mind plagues.
Although I wasn't blind to the fact that this was only a distant future, an idealized one at that, if we survived, it was another motivation.
Speaking of cub…
"And I flew by, check on the cub too. I won't tell you the sex, though, but everything is developing well." I said as a comeback. It was surprising yet not really.
Both were relatively old by furbolgs standards.
Outside of ursa totemics and shamans, we didn't have the longest lifespan. We weren't short-lived like kobolds, but seventy years was around the absolute limit for a regular, if lucky, furbolg.
Something inconsequential now, but it made conception a miracle, especially at an age when humans would consider the beginning of middle age.
Still, it wasn't exactly expected, given that I didn't touch the gamete count, only catering to the damage of age.
"How?! We-arg that was to be a surprise… I should have foreseen Ursol's wisdom guiding you." My mother bemoaned dramatically, and I rolled my eyes, earning a soft glare. I eased down with all my diplomatic skills.
"I won't tell anyone. Not even Karhu and Hukar, but I doubt this can be hidden for much longer. Now, are we going to prepare those honeyed salmon or not? I won't be able to stay here for long.”
Comments
Petrox
Hey, an offspring of Ohto would have a similar age with Tyrande's offspring. The night elf could be the "Groot" of the furbolg.
Asura
Thanks for the chapter👋🔥
