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28. The Third Kind
🕑 Added 2025-02-01 20:00:09 +0000 UTCI always wanted to see humans again. Medivh hardly counted and made for a poor example of a first impression of a species I once belonged to.
Even if they were, strictly speaking, two different species, the humans of Earth were in no way the same as the humans here beyond appearance and general behavior. Probably. You couldn't easily put sapient species into neat little boxes, but as a rule of thumb, there were consensuses. But you can expect traits for each species; an elf doesn't see time the same as a tauren, and it changes a lot, for example.
I was curious to see and feel the difference from what I was now. I want to observe how alien humans would be in order to conceptualize the change in person. It was strange, and I wished this weren't under such circumstances, but reality was reality.
An alliance for wartime was as good as any when it came to a positive first impression. But locating their camps came first before that, and it had been relatively simple. Magatha's constant flow of information helped but only provided a general location.
We were speaking of hundreds of kilometers long and dozens in width. Azeroth wasn't dumbed down like in the game. High vantage points from the sky can only do so much beyond a few kilometers; everything becomes a colorful blur on a bigger blur.
To be precise, when regarding my fleshy ones.
Spirit of the wilds helped there, sharing their sight with me. It had rapidly become an impossibility within Ashenvale, and why that demon got me beyond that, I had been careless.
You couldn't undersell how exposure to the Fel seriously messed up the spirit of the wilds if it didn't outright unmake them when it came to the weaker ones. They either migrated for those who could and were willing; otherwise, they were lost or on their way toward that fate if they didn't have protection in some form.
But here in the Barren? Yeah, I was close to a swath of the ancient forest currently falling apart from the demonic plague, but it wasn't the daunting and growing silence of the dying wood. Yet it wasn't that far off either.
The last detail was pinpointing them, which was a matter of smell. A general direction was still too broad of an estimate, but it was easy.
By the spirit of the ancestors, their place stunk. Any big gathering of people smelled to some degree, but this was the worst, barring the bird bitches. Even more so when it was almost the entirety of two groups–the fighting force–of outlanders of several tens of thousands packed together after they trekked and fought through Kalimdor.
Beyond wanting to see humans in the flesh, it wasn't the only reason I wanted first to visit the more Alliance-oriented part of the Horde-Alliance truce or whatever equivalent was happening here. It was a matter of language barrier.
The spirit of the ancestors didn't know a lick of Orcish, but Common was a different story. Furbolgs in Grizzly Hills had a permanent human settlement in their backyard with more or less peaceful, if rare, interactions. Otherwise, there would be no humans.
Ancestors gossiped with one another, and Ursol oversaw them for essentially twenty millennia. Virtually every language of Azeroth was deciphered from that, and I have access to this invaluable–not infallible or unbiased or always accessible–wealth of knowledge as a shaman.
Also, orcs might react more violently, and I didn't like their smell—the burning acrid and acidic of Fel entranced within, to be precise, that even from there, my snout wrinkled at its pungent presence. It was thin, but it was there, lingering and ever-present as an integral part of them.
It wasn't anything compared to satyrs, nevertheless compared to true demons of the Twisting Nether. But it was there. More than ten years trained to murder those creatures and inborn instincts revolted by their mere existence had effects. It would be the same for furbolgs, and few had my self-restraint.
It was a bit of a shame, too, because I didn't find the not-fairer sex of the orcish population… let's say, unsightly.
'Urg, get your mind out of the gutter, Ohto.' I berated myself as I advanced toward the edge of the camp and stood still for anyone to notice me.
A guard didn't take long to pass by. He was a small, muscular man wearing metal armor with evident signs of wear, and he initially walked in front of me without noticing my presence.
The vegetation was anything but dense, and even if I tried, I couldn't hide. My fur was pitch black, making me stand out in the rising morning sun; on top of that, I had glowing whitish tattoos and shining golden eyes.
I wasn't in any way discreet.
Yet the human somehow, someway, somewhat missed me. His reaction as he slowly walked back hesitant steps was comical.
His body froze as his sleepy eyes behind his helmeted head stared dumbly with awakening clarity at my claws, then they slowly looked up to my ever-exposed teeth, and finally, they met my own.
There was a quick flash of confusion also when staring atop my head, probably due to the hat Groot decided to put for me. A thing he did when I aimed to appear friendly. I understood why, and I loved the bemusement born from the sheer gape moe.
Anyway.
There, his heart began to pump blood hysterically, making me think it was going to pop. His expression was positively terrified to his core as he backed away, falling on his ass while fumbling to grasp his toothpick of a weapon.
"H-he-ey be-b-bear… Ba-back-off!" Honest to Ursol and Ursoc, the human squeaked like a frightened mouse. His mustache trembled while he waved his cute little sword at me. Adorable.
I couldn't help it and openly laughed, something that to the soldier probably sounded like a clipped mix of teeth clacking, growling, and low below.
"No, I don't think so. However, if you want, you can try tiny metal man. I won't bite. I come in peace." I humorously said while sitting right here and there. The guard's blanched-out face shifted to shock, doubt, and incomprehension.
The initial fright was still there but dying down, replaced by nervousness. The human's hormones made him easy to read. I cataloged each in my mental library since most species differed. I barely caught myself from getting closer for a more accurate reading. I got the feeling he wouldn't like it.
And he pissed himself already; no need to worsen things.
"I'm a furbolg, an ally of the night elves, and I wish to speak to your leaders about the demons and how to rip and tear them apart," I explained with a feral snarl–he squeaked again at–there was more, but that was the basic and got the point across.
He nodded numbly and stood up before walking away in haste, almost falling multiple times while at it as he periodically looked back. I remained on my spot, the flora of the surroundings and from my living wooden bag preemptively moved in case things went wrong.
I didn't have to wait for long as a blonde female human who looked like she just woke up despite her immaculate blue robe, makeup, and haircut–Arcane bullshit, I guessed–teleported right in front of me.
Well, ten meters in front of me and with raised defense, but still. Her widening eyes told me plenty. I wasn't blaring my power out, but I wasn't hiding it either.
"Tidemother... He didn't dream it. A massive furbolg with a small top hat… a big glowing one… How?" She, Jaina Proudmore, for it couldn't be anyone else, whispered with furrowed brows.
And I responded to her aimless question with a head tilt.
"Indeed, my kind isn't uniquely present in Northrend. But that's unimportant right now. You're this gathering of metal-wearing outlanders' chieftess, yes? I have come to help." I said straightforwardly, earning me a long second of tense, confused silence from the sea princess.
Yet as she was going to answer, a second voice came in, well multiple, with the sound of various footsteps, some with metallic clicking sounds, of clip-clop, and leather or wood on the dry grass. It stood among the rest, literally carried to us by the wind.
Its owner was an armored male orc with dark braided hair and a ponytail riding an overview puppy. A large hammer of superb craftsmanship crackling with faint whisks of lightning was held in his right hand.
A powerful shaman, I knew fighting would be unpleasant to fight without immediately going for the kill. However, it wasn't that different for the young woman if she knew to keep her distance.
"Jaina! What is the meaning of this…" He trailed off, staring at me almost slack-jawed as I stared back. Well, I stared down since even on his mount and me sitting, he was smaller, but only by a little. Admittedly, furbolg had stubby legs, but still, everyone was so small.
Right after came the third of the leaders with a massive enchanted spear-halberd hybrid in hand, the biggest and oldest tauren I had ever seen. He was a monster of muscles and sheer size. He was bigger than Murgut, nearly comparable to some of the smaller ursa totemic, and looked even older than Oakpaw.
This was Cairne Bloodhoof, then.
He could stare at me at eye level without assistance. Of course, it changed when I stood up as hundreds arrived, making me dwarf him like everyone else. And it wasn't a figure of speech; I wasn't thin by any definition of the word. I weighed at least multiple tons even if I moved if it wasn't the case.
From my right, the Alliance came, and to my left, the Horde. Both were primarily composed of humans or orcs, with the former possessing the flavor of downsized humans, mostly dwarves with very few gnomes.
The rest were pale, smaller night elves, and the latter of what remained of the Horde population was equal part trolls and taurens.
The two sides were untrustworthy of each other, many barely holding to murder each other, yet they were together.
Many were curious, more were tense, afraid even, and others were confused, but all ready to fight if I proved aggressive. And more were coming.
It would be a lie to say my muscles didn't coil in preparation, and I wasn't reeling in an instinctual clack of jaws. Just as I avoided setting off in reflex the cocktail of seeds–among which were stormvine–I had pushed in a small perimeter around me while I waited.
It wouldn't do, and the varieties there were nastier than what I traded with the Grimtotem tribe.
It was far from ideal for diplomacy and the height of irony. But prevention was better than the cure.
Luckily, it didn't come down to this as the orc I was certain was Thrall jumped off his wolf and opened discourse with me.
"Esteemed… shaman?" I nodded; there was no need to waste time, and that was the correct term, "What do you seek from us?"
"As I told the tiny metal man, not conflict with you. I wish to simply reduce the escalation with the kaldorei and work together toward the eradication of the demons and their undead pets, greenskin chieftain." I helpfully answered with a tilt of my head and a flick of my fluffy round ears as if it were the most obvious thing.
He wasn't the one who reacted first.
"Undeads? No… No, it can't be… the Scourge… No, I should have seen it! It was obvious. It all makes sense now." Jaina let out with barely restrained horror in her voice. Anger and grief as well.
From then on, it went relatively smoothly; we introduced ourselves properly, and I found myself walking with the three and talking.
"Is it no exaggeration that you can heal any wounds and revive the freshly deceased as long as they have an intact central nervous system? Pardon me, but I found it hard to believe. Priests cannot do a fraction of these high claims." Jaina questioned my words as we continued to walk into the camp, thousands of eyes on me as we did so.
The smell wasn't much worse, but it was overwhelming in its diversity.
Thrall seemed to take offense for some reason at her fair cynicism. Not that I was ignorant of potential reasons. The Warchief wasn't inconspicuous when he listened to the spirits; he probably got a general picture of me from them. I could overhear part of it.
But the human princess's doubts were natural and more than fair. I appreciated that rationality.
"Understandable, but I wield Life and Nature, not the Light. Healing is merely a portion of what I can do." I hummed, searching for an adequate target for demonstration.
Soon after, I smiled, finding it, and with a flex of magic, a nearby root burst out, holding a yellowish-black-striped rodent by the neck. It lacked a front and leg, and its tail was cut from the middle.
It emitted a shrill cry and desperately tried to claw its way out of the plant hold, but it only increased as I took between my thumb and index finger.
"Feisty little one, heh." I mumbled, showing my catch, then intoned to my confused audience, "Observe."
I began to put pressure on the rat's abdomen, making sure any extremities wouldn't spray back at me or Jaina's face as she was the closest. As funny as the last part would be.
My catch stopped squirming all at once, but instead of silence, its struggling sound was replaced by that of bones snapping and organs getting crushed. Of the pulped corpse, only the head was left intact.
Everyone stopped and stared at me.
Then, with the practiced ease of an artist, I rebuilt the yellow rat. Blood on my fingers flowed back in rivulets, bones shifted and merged, skin slowly closed, and innards that had busted from the mouth and anus coiled into the places they once were. And I went beyond by regrowing his missing leg and tail bit.
Without missing a beat, I released the revived rodent, who scurried as fast as it was biologically capable into a nearby bush.
"My abilities do not extend to anyone with a cold body or damaged brain. Does this example suffice for you?" I explained without any further fanfare besides a pleased smirk on my muzzle, breaking the silence that had settled in.
"That… how… incredible… Yes, that's enough!" Jaina hastily said as I felt her mana pulse toward where the rat was hiding, and her eyes widened.
She was quite possibly among the only ones here who grasped what I had just done with the surrounding mages who witnessed my little spectacle. Priests were second on that front as, by all accounts, they should know a minimum regarding biology.
In either group, the high elves were the most expressive, and I would leave it at that. The sneers were gone, though.
But for everyone else? I was uncertain of how to describe it. Fear was a good enough description.
Fear had been present before, contradictorily what many night elves believed I was dangerous. Here, I was respected as such from the little I had seen.
I was big. My paws could hold orcs as if they were toys, my fingers ended in blades larger than the humans', and both upper torsos would fit in my maws. Speaking politely to their leader changed none of those facts.
Fear remained, but it had changed. I wasn't just a giant bipedal bear–an apex predator of the highest degree–I was something more, far more.
'I probably shouldn't have done that.' I groaned internally, but pride was a sin I wasn't above. Quite the contrary, but self-awareness didn't change its intensity.
My healing prowess was one of my greatest achievements, a skill I honed from birth and will perfect till death. And it was a guilty pleasure of mine to show it off.
Be that as it may, it would have happened sooner or later. Now, the reality that I was several magnitudes more powerful than they initially believed was right there. That opened a Pandora's Box.
"I have never seen power like that, Ohto of the Greenweald. Blessed ancestors, destiny is on our side if one such as you is on our side in this war for survival. It's arrogant, but I must ask. Could you heal my people?" Thrall asked. It was tactless and blunt. Daring to the extreme even, I responded in kind, but it wasn't malicious.
"Ah, you mean the curse that makes you reek of demons." I stated rather loudly, causing an uncomfortable stir among the orcs, "I don't know. It depends. What I can infer is unpleasant. If it's tied to the soul, my attempts to fix the body can shift from aesthetic to disastrous, from mutation to death. Or worse. But if the curse was purely physical, it would have been purged already, would it not?"
I said no more after that as the Warchief deflated and smiled weakly, but Jaina came to his help even if it sounded anything but that at first.
"Dalaran's mages' have concluded the same as Ohto. The Blood Curse is seamless, insidious, blurring the line between evolution and corruption, and indeed based on a connection to the soul." The orc deflated even further as we neared a large tent.
"Whatever demonic entity binds your people, Thrall, it's extremely powerful and capable. But based on how curses of that magnitude usually operate, an orc killing the responsible demon should be key in breaking the curse. Don't place much hope on it, though." At that soft-spoken clarification from the sorceresses, I recalled a vital point regarding Mannoroth.
The very same demon we were speaking about and the very same demon I killed. Yeah, Jaina was right to say not to put much hope on it.
'Shit… Oh, well.' I realized, but I couldn't find it in me to really care. Nor was I going to infer I knew more than I should, like my blunter with the mind rapist.
It was the Horde's problem, and I wasn't going to regret saving my furry ass from that brain-dead pit lord. I hadn't desired to fight him. It was tragic for the innocents thrown in the mix, and I felt a little guilty, but my empathy outside furbolgs was limited.
And it's not like Mannoroth can't be summoned again. Not that I had any clue how, but that sounded like an orcish problem. However, it wasn't to be ignored.
"I fear the furbolg and human's words hold many saddening truths, my young friend. But there is hope in those dark times. The fiendish tricks of that same demon certainly orchestrated Grommash's current fate should be there. Saving him has become all the more important, for he must have the answer you seek." Cairne hummed pensively, and Thrall nodded grimly at the Bloodhoof patriarch.
Then, the orc's docile expression he had until now became ferocious and determined as he hastened his heavy step. The shift was so sudden it caught me off-guard.
"You are right, Cairne. Let's not waste any more time. Today, we shall fight, and we shall win! The demons will fall! The orcs will be slaves no more! For my brother, for the Horde!" He declared, the wind strengthening his booming call and a loud chorus followed by three languages that meant the same thing.
"FOR THE HORDE!"
I frowned and stared down at Jaina, whose expression wasn't different from that of almost anyone not part of the Horde. Then, the sea princess did the same.
"For the fallen, for Lordareon, for the Alliance!" Her magically enhanced voice followed and had a similar result: a change in every language by every race, yet it meant the same thing.
"FOR THE ALLIANCE!"
I was the only one left in silence, but to say I was left unaffected by the excitement in the air would be a lie. So I let it all out at once, my heart hammering in my chest, and my roar was left unrestrained, echoing in Ursine, Darnasian, Taur-ahe, Common, and Zandali through the ancestors sharing their voices.
"For the wild, for Kalimdor, for Azeroth!"
The world went silent for one instant, and it exploded again in a third warcry.
"FOR AZEROTH!"
Comments
TITOO
Regular furbolgs range from brown bear to polar bear on average, just bulkier and taller. Ursa totemics are around 50% bigger than that. There's a reason they can kill dragons in melee. Have you seen what the size of the biggest polar bear is? Ohto is taller (~4.5 m or ~15ft) and far more muscular than that; humans are absolutely tiny in comparison. I try to keep this size disparity. Add to that, Ohto has hands with long metallic claws that, in comparison to his body, are big kitchen knives. Ursol is bigger, and Ursoc is even bigger. The God in Wild God is earned. But one bullet to the eyes and the brain and Ohto is a goner.
Bat
I like the first time meeting between the factions and Ohto. I hadn’t fully realized how powerful he has become until this chapter. How big has he actually become? His claws are as big as a human?
