Brick And Mortar

Part II

Izzy the Ugly Kodo
Full Stink Ahead
Interesting Travelers
The Gates of Orgrimmar
Trolls!
Grom'tuk
A Naked Troll
Kaja
Tales of Mulgore
The Center of Attention
Rope Wrestling
Spoils to the Victor

Izzy the Ugly Kodo
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Part II
Episode 1: Izzy the Ugly Kodo

I cleaned up the necklace the best I could in a water trough and wrapped it carefully in my bedroll to keep it safe. Johnny and I were waiting outside the inn while Innkeeper Grosk prepared provisions for our journey to the capital.

"Sergeant Scornbrow said that Orgrimmar is due north of here. The road forks a bit, but that it's pretty simple to navigate. The wide, well-traveled path leads directly there," I explained to Johnny. He was looking at me, but it was anyone's guess whether he understood what I was telling him.

I hoped that interacting with Johnny could help bring him out of his shell. Part of me rationalized that it would be far safer to travel with a companion who was capable of independent thought. But another part of me, deep within my furry chest, hated to see something that was as broken as the Forsaken.

"He says that the road is pretty safe. So if we travel light, and try to make some progress at night, perhaps we can catch up..."

"Tauren!" Grosk shouted as he emerged from the stables. I grabbed my pack and jogged to his side. The innkeeper carried a large bundle of supplies under one arm and in the other hand he held the lead on the ugliest kodo I had ever seen.

Kodos are wonderful creatures. The other races of Azeroth don't appreciate these gigantic beasts, but they are a central element in the Tauren way of life. A good eight foot tall at the shoulder, the bull kodo is capable of carrying or pulling a heavy load at tremendous speeds without tiring.

Kodos look a bit like a rhinoceros, except that their shoulders are enormous and their bodies are deeply barrel-chested. They also have large, dinosaurian tails that sweep down, near the earth. Their skin is leathery and wrinkled; and the single horn on their wide snout can take a number of different shapes, depending on their gender and breed.

This specimen was most notable for its age. My great grandfather could have ridden this beast when he was just a calf. Her skin was pasty and cracked; her eyes clouded; her nose caked with dry mucous. If she had the vitality, I think she would make a bee line for the great kodo graveyard.

"Wow, Mr. Grosk, that's quite the mount you have there, sir." I tried not to laugh.

"Izzy? Oh yeah, she's a regular fixture on the road between Orgrimmar and Razor Hill. She's been delivering goods for me for nearly thirty years now."

Thirty years? I had no idea kodos could live so long.

"Here's some food for the two of you. Should be enough to last you," he explained. "If not, you can break into the supplies in the cart. Make that a last resort, okay? I don't want to deal with complaints that Orgrimmar didn't get enough smoked Bloodbelly."

"Sir, this is an awful lot of food for a three day walk. We thought if we pushed it, we could maybe make it in two..."

"Six days." The innkeeper stared sternly at me. "Don't you push Izzy to go any faster than that. She ain't no plainstrider. Are you Iz? No." He lovingly patted her drooly muzzle.

Grosk made some cooing baby-noises to the ancient kodo and it looked eagerly and blindly up. The innkeeper fed her a karras root he held in his teeth. With any other kodo, this would be a refreshingly endearing gesture. But with Izzy, the effect was just nauseating.

"Cart? No, we're trying to catch up..."

The innkeeper pointed a green, sausage-finger in my face. "You're here to serve the horde, right?" I nodded with the tiniest of gestures. "Then you're starting today. Bring these supplies with you." He tucked our bag of provisions in a corner of the cart. "Take Izzy to the stables in the Valley of Honor. Stable master there, a red-haired fellow by the name of Xon'cha, will take care of her and send her back this way with lumber from Ashenvale.

"He'll give you a few silver for your trouble. Make sure you get paid," he stressed. "That troll will take advantage of anyone if you give him half a chance." He wandered back towards the inn, muttering to himself (in the crudest of terms) about the seemingly-remote possibility of Xon'cha's Goblin parentage.

"But..." I gestured helplessly at Grosk's back with Izzy's lead. Then he was gone, leaving only myself, Johnny, Izzy, and a cart stacked high with supplies.

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Full Stink Ahead
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 2: Full Stink Ahead

Johnny and I set out for Orgrimmar with Izzy in tow. "Tow" isn't really the correct word. You didn't have to tug on her lead. You just had to carry it. If you let go, she would gladly stop and wait for you to take hold of it once more.

Innkeeper Grosk had little to worry about us pushing Izzy to go faster than she had intended (I would call this a stroll, at best). Pulling on the rope only made her stop and snort in annoyance.

Annoying a kodo was a bad move indeed. Even an old, frail gal such as Izzy could kill without even working up a sweat. But I doubted Izzy could be pushed that far. She knew her job and just wanted to do it.

So I walked slowly with Izzy's lead in hand. It didn't take too long to learn the pace that Izzy had in mind.

Johnny was following us, walking aimlessly behind that cart. What sort of creature chooses to walk behind a cart, and barefoot, no less? Someone who doesn't mind the smell and navigating around fresh, steaming dung piles, I supposed. I shook my head in frustration.

"Unless you're guarding the rear," I yelled back to him, "why don't you walk up here?" Johnny stared at me for a long while. Perhaps he was wondering whether I was talking to him? Eventually he picked up the pace and joined us at the front.

Well, it was a start.

# # #

The trip didn't exactly go quickly, but it was largely uneventful. I tried not to obsess over missing the girls in Razor Hill. That they were safe was the important thing; even if my detour had cost us a few days together.

In reality, I had no assurances that we would even be stationed together. We could be shipped to different continents, never to see each other again, if that was our fate.

The road to Orgrimmar was known as the Red Cathedral. The road passed through the longest natural canyons that I had ever seen. The well-worn path extended deep through the desert's red sandstone. In places, large curving rocks overhung the canyon; not generally turning the road into a tunnel, but giving dim stretches of the way an eerie, almost otherworldly calm.

That was, until the wind blew. When the breeze and canyon aligned, it would channel a blinding river of dust that was so thick that even Izzy would close her eyes and wait motionless for it to pass.

On the plus side, I did get to meet a variety of travelers on their way to and from Orgrimmar. We were the slowest of them all, so no one socialized with us long. They had places to be and could not bear Izzy's glacial pace. We saw no other Tauren or Forsaken. Clearly, we were outsiders. I made an effort to at least hail them all -- to set them at ease, and show that I meant no harm.

Travelers headed to Orgimmar were generally hungry for news. Those returning from the capital would stop and share what they had heard. Everyone was on edge and wanted to be assured that no enemy troops had been spotted nearby, waiting to ambush them as they traveled. They wanted to know that their farms and families would still be waiting for them when they returned home.

Most of the tales meant little to me since I did not yet know the people and places involved. I listened carefully to the things I was told and relayed them to others when asked.

The only story whose authenticity I could affirm was my own. I told the curious of pirates attacking Tiragarde Keep, and how Razor Hill had rushed Benedict's maps and secret documents to Thrall.

I took no credit for the feat, and Johnny did not elaborate on the details I had neglected. I was glad I could help, but hardly proud of what I had done.

# # #

On a side note, a number of people have left comments saying that they like the tale. I haven't generally responded because, frankly, I thought it might look kind'a vain if every other comment was one from me going "Thanks!". However, I do read these comments, and believe me, they mean a helluva' lot to me. Knowing that people are reading it and enjoying the story is what keeps me writing and posting episodes. So to all you who have left (or will leave) a comment, I really, really appreciate it. It means a lot to me that you took the time to jot down your thoughts! Thanks! :)

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Interesting Travelers
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 3: Interesting Travelers

A warning to lore-Nazis: Hey, do you remember that preface back before Episode 1 where I mentioned that I had intentionally changed a few things in the WoW universe to fit my storytelling style? Well, the following episode will finally refer to the most significant of these changes. This is your last warning to hop off the bus. If you can't cope with anyone deviating from Blizzard's canon, then you're not going to enjoy the story ahead. My story depends on this change.

Oh, and also, I compiled the parts into single documents. If you prefer reading these in a more continuous fashion, you can find the links on the index.

Most of those headed up and down the Red Cathedral were Orcish peasants; farmers and fishermen headed to Orgrimmar to sell what they had and purchase what they needed.

I did, however, spot a few noteworthy travelers that were quite unlike the rest.

The most surprising of all was a gigantic creature that flew high overhead. It spun lazy circles in the air when it drew closer, dropping ever lower until the rider could get a good look at the three of us.

Unfortunately, the midday sun prevented me from getting a good look at the man or beast that was riding the creature. The flier itself, what I thought to be a dragon at first, was instead the most fantastic of chimera.

It had the body of a lion, the wings of a bat, and the tail of a scorpion. There was no way to guess just how large the beast must have been, but if that was indeed a man on its back, then its wingspan could be no less than thirty feet!

I gripped my hammer as it studied us, fearful of how we could defend ourselves from such a mighty creature, but it flew off without ever nearing the ground.

How the rider managed to stay aboard while it dipped and twisted was quite mysterious. I should hope that I never have the chance to find out firsthand.

Later that same day, two riders sped past us on their way from the city. They rode high on some manner of brightly-colored bird. At first I thought that they had somehow tamed plainstriders, but apart from this being impossible, these birds seemed far more light and elegant than those clumsy beasts.

Even more fascinating than the birds were the riders themselves. They were tall and thin, like river reeds. Their skin was pale and their ears were long and straight, like the necks of giraffes.

They did not stop to talk, nor even respond to my hail, but I saw them well enough to know that they could only be blood elves.

I had always thought that Thalassians were myth. Utankan elders told us that these dark creatures were immortal. They said that unless killed in battle, these reclusive elves could live for thousands of years.

When I was a calf, I would imagine what it must be like to watch the world change; to see nations rise and fall, wars come and go, and yet be unaffected by it all.

One of my earliest memories was that of meeting my grandfather, Huln Thunderhoof. I remember him cupping my face in one hand and smiling up at my mother. He was a great man, my grandfather. He was well-respected by all. He was also extremely long-lived.

My mother said that I reminded her of him in many ways; the smell of my ears, the shape of my face. I would wonder if I would live long like he did. To be able to see and remember sixteen different summers in a single lifetime! That alone must seem like an eternity.

But to a blood elf, a Tauren's life span must be like the blooming of a flower. Knowing generations of Tauren would be like walking past trees on a forest trail.

A shudder ran down my spine when I realized what they were. It reawakened all those old memories to learn that they do in fact, exist.

They were dressed in some sort of fancy robes, tinted a dark, strong color. The cloth glistened in the light, like water.

Despite myths to the contrary, us Tauren can see different colors, but many colors that Orcs claimed are different looked the same or similar to us. And when I have reflected upon what I have seen, and shared my stories with others, I have found that the colors I saw were often gone and that all that remained in my memories were light, dark, vivid, or dull.

Such things seem trivial, regardless, when you can remember every sound and every smell that went along with them.

It's ironic that Orcish lacks the words to truly express what I do remember!

We encountered the journey's final notable traveler just a few miles before Orgrimmar itself. He was a tiny green creature by name of Rezlak. He drove an enormous cart piled high with mysterious items.

Rezlak was about the size of my fist, and sat in a ball of roughly the same shape; his knees up around his ears. He dressed in fine cloth and showed far too many pointed teeth when he laughed. Despite the difference in our sizes, I felt the most comfort when I was over a hammer's length away from the hairless, bat-eared thing.

Everyone has heard of Goblins and there was no mistaking what he was. He seemed like an angry animal who was looking for an opportunity to bite. And I don't mean like a creature who has been backed into a corner. No. It was more like he wished to snatch a chunk of meat and then flee, so he could enjoy it in private.

Rezlak acted as friendly as possible, but there was no warmth in his eyes. Only when he was certain that I was unwilling to trade the contents of my cart for a few choice items from his, would he ride ahead and leave us in his dust.

Goblins are famous for their neutrality. They will take no side in any conflict because they do not wish to lose customers. In fact, they take great glee in selling arms to both sides of every conflict. They will buy and sell regardless of the political climate, but nothing inflates prices like war.

It is whispered that half of the world's hostilities were kindled or fanned by goblin meddling.

Rezlak confirmed what I had heard about Goblins. They're scary little people, and you can rely on them to sell you what you need. But never consider one a friend. They are extremely dangerous to anyone with an empty purse.

Paranoia is a survival skill for Goblins, and nothing makes a Goblin more paranoid than poor people. After all, there's more than a few people in Azeroth who -- for right or wrong -- blame their lot in life on the dealings with Goblins.

Dangerous people.

Dangerous people who would love a little revenge.

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The Gates of Orgrimmar
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 4: The Gates of Orgrimmar

Orgrimmar is built into a desert canyon at the northernmost reaches of Durotar, just before the green forests of Ashenvale.

After the Third War, Thrall and his orcs walled up both entrances to the canyon with giant blocks of Ashenvale granite, and turned the sandstone into a defensible fortress.

I passed through the gates late on the morning on the sixth day. A few city defenders stood outside the outer portcullis and scrutinized those entering the city.

They were the most serious Orcs I had met to date. They did not respond to my hail and they shared no news. Although I didn't fear them -- I had done nothing wrong -- their depressing demeanor left a sinking feeling in my gut.

Was this what my future held? Would I spend the rest of days as miserable as these people looked? I felt like I was the marching condemned, walking slowly to my doom.

Passing through the inner portcullis helped lift some of the gloom. Orgrimmar was unlike anything I could ever have imagined. I had never seen a city before and I was unprepared for just how many people could even live in a single place.

Although the Tauren (at Thrall's urging) have built a capital city, few Tauren live in what Orcs would even call a village. Our utankan roam Mulgore with the seasons; gathering different plants as they come in season and following the herds of tallstriders and kodos as they migrate. When my utankan would cross paths with another, we would often hold great celebrations (nokee zhi), and our families would merge for a few short, glorious days.

Those few occasions were the most people I had ever seen in a single place. I would guess no more than 75 adults and a handful of calves, gathered together around a giant bonfire.

Before me, in the Valley of Strength alone, I could see hundreds of Orcs. In every direction, there were people going about their business. There were shopkeepers haggling with customers, barkers enticing passers-by, soldiers laughing, auctioneers calling out bids, and beggars begging.

The cacophony was tremendous. People were shouting, beasts of burden were braying, and somewhere a blacksmith's hammer was slicing through the noise like a salmon through the rapids. I had to lay my ears tightly back against my head to get any relief at all.

But even more overwhelming than the noise and congestion, was the smell! The stench of Orgimmar hit my nose like a mallet. After my first lungful of the hot, pungent air, I thought I might never smell again.

Don't get me wrong, I'll be the first to admit that a Tauren encampment can get pretty ripe. It can. This is never more true than in the early spring after the utankan has been stationary for all the long winter months. The Tauren even joke amongst themselves that it is the smell of "civilization" -- even more than the migrating herds -- that encourage the tribes to move.

But unlike the utankan, Orgrimmar did not have the luxury of relocating every couple of months. And worse yet, the ramparts at both ends of the canyon limited how much fresh air would blow in. Without a doubt, none of Orgrimmar's denizens had room to complain about how the Forsaken smell.

A city guard pointed me towards the Valley of Honor, but he needn't have bothered. Izzy knew where she was headed.

I marveled at the wonders before me. The Tauren live in tents and I had seen plenty of Orcish buildings, but I had never imagined anything like this. There were dozens of buildings in the valley; they were built up from the valley floor, perched on ledges, and dug into the soft, red, sandstone cliffs. They were made from all manner of materials; limestone slabs, red sandstone, clay tiles, rough-hewn timbers, and even painted animal hides.

There were ramps, ladders, and even series of handholds dug into the walls to allow people to access the higher rows of buildings. There were even steps cut into the cliff all the way to the very top of the canyon wall. I could only guess how much more of the city was up, out of sight.

The strangest thing of all were a handful of buildings that were impossibly tall. At first, I wondered if they housed giraffes here, inside the city, but then I realized that I was seeing buildings actually built on top of other buildings. How they managed such a feat was a mystery to me. There had to be some sort of platform inside for upper people to stand on. Or something similar, I figured.

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Trolls!
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 5: Trolls!

Izzy and I trekked out of the valley and into a more narrow canyon known as The Drag. Various awnings overhung The Drag and kept it cool and comfortable. There was less commotion here and I let my ears relax.

The drag contained many, many similar buildings, all packed end to end, and stacked row on row. I guessed that this was a residential section of Orgrimmar.

A lone Orcish woman slowly walked The Drag, calling out her wares. The rest of the foot traffic walked along in silence.

From The Drag we traveled through more gates, to the Valley of Honor. The Valley of Honor was far more peaceful, still. The air rang with distant steel from various swordsmen learning their craft, but it was largely free of yelling.

A large, shallow lake dominated the valley, and a few Trolls fished from the far bank with poles.

Trolls! Wow. They were exactly as they had been described; tall and lanky. Their skin was dark and colored with blues. But most striking of all was the Troll tusks.

Orcs have tusks too. They're a couple inches long and jut up from the corners of their lower jaw. They bracket their faces nicely. An Orc without tusks would just look wrong. But Troll tusks are another thing entirely!

Troll tusks are wild things. A foot or more of ivory that swoops up, down, or even straight out. I have no idea how their scrawny little necks manage to hold up the weight. I bet if you grabbed one of those things good and tight, a Troll would be hard-pressed to do anything about it.

Now us Tauren, we don't have silly tusks. We have big, beautiful horns that grow to be several feet long. And they're not for decoration either. No sir. We have long horns and big enough neck muscles to actually use them too.

If you grabbed a Tauren's horns and he didn't want you to, well, it could very well be the last mistake you ever made.

"Izzy garl! Dat's mi nasty garl. What dem Innkeepa Grosk ships me dis day?"

A troll with bright red hair had walked up to me and taken Izzy's lead. "Ah! You must be the stable master, Xon'cha."

The Troll stared at me a moment before responding, "Yeh, dey call mi Xon'cha. Dese dem fixin's dat Grosk send mi."

Now it was my turn to stare. The Troll's accent was very thick. His Orcish sounded no better than mine. I don't speak Zandali and I really doubted he spoke Taurahe. He tried to lead Izzy off, but I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

I took my hammer and bag out of the cart and slung them over my shoulders. "Grosk said you'd pay me for bringing Izzy here."

His gaze moved between me and the Kodo for a moment, trying to decypher what I had said. He turned to leave again so I cleared my throat loudly, stopping him in his tracks. I put out my hand, palm up.

"Mos def. Mi gib yeh coin fi yeh sweat." He reached in his purse and counted out a small number of silver coins and a few copper ones. I didn't actually need to be paid for the trip since I was coming this way anyhow, but if the job normally pays, then why shouldn't I get my fair share? I was nobody's "chump".

I poked the coins around with a finger and pretended to count them. I can count, of course, but I didn't really know how much the job was supposed to pay in the first place. I scowled at the Troll and tried to look skeptical.

Apparently, the ploy worked. Xon'cha handed me two extra pieces of silver and then led Izzy away to the stables. I dumped the change in my purse and grinned wide at his back. I felt like things were really going my way today.

Johnny and I headed quickly out of the Valley of Honor (in case Xon'Cha changed his mind) and walked on through The Drag.

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Grom'tuk
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 6: Grom'tuk

The far end of The Drag opens to a sunny area that contains a most peculiar sight. There stands an old, dead tree shaped like a sitting centaur. The tree stretched a good fifty feet up in the air, reaching to the very top of the canyon.

On top of the tree, someone had mounted a gigantic skull with enormous tusks. The tusks alone must have been fifteen feet in length.

Chained around the trunk of the tree was a great set of armor. The steel had begun to rust, but it must have been quite the sight when it was new.

What sort of creature had worn these plates? What kind of beast had tusks like that? How many men had it taken to down it?

A meaty hand clapped down on my shoulder. "You must be new to Orgrimmar, calf!"

"Calf" is a funny word to the Tauren. It is charged with meaning. Only two sets of people would dare call you a calf -- your elders and your best friends -- and your buddies would full-well expect the punch in the nose for doing it.

I spun quickly around, throwing the hand roughly off of me.

They say that staring into the furry chest of a Tauren is like facing a wall of meat. Well, staring at the chest of an armored Tauren is like facing a castle wall.

The Tauren wall that had been erected some six inches in front of my face was a good half foot taller than me. It also seemed to stretch to both horizons, but I was hesitant to turn my head to either side.

The wall was armored in the fiercest set of plate mail that had ever been forged. The metal was thick, black and sharp. It looked like it would easily snag loose items that might get tossed against it -- loose items like fingers and ears.

This was not the sort of armor you might decorate a king with, all polished and pretty, to make him look like a warrior. No, this was the sort of thing worn by someone who swung a weapon for a living.

I lowered my gaze and took a half step back. "Yes sir, I just arrived."

Damn. He wasn't standing on a stool... Was I standing in a rut? I wondered.

"Perfect!" he shouted, "You can come and celebrate with me." He clapped both of my upper arms with his open gauntlets, as if I were his long-lost poalo (brother).

"No sir, I really must be..."

"I insist."

And then we were walking. It is a great insult to refuse your elder when they insist. I was not ready to make any enemies here.

"First, I just need to drop off my gear at the blacksmith for repair. Boomstick Imports is on the corner."

I walked in a daze alongside the giant Tauren. He was unlike anyone I had ever met. No, scratch that. He was unlike any Tauren I had ever met. He was jovial, outspoken, outgoing, and he talked with an Orcish accent. That was the strangest thing of all.

I ground a finger in one of my ears to check for mites. I kept expecting to see some Orcs holding up his armor like a puppet.

But he wasn't an Orc. He was Tauren -- just the most Orcish Tauren ever.

And everywhere we went, people greeted him by name. He seemed to know everyone and everyone knew him.

"Welcome back, Grom'tuk!" "So good to see you again, Grom'tuk." "Come inside, Grom'tuk, your favorite snack just came out of the oven." Okay, perhaps I exaggerate, but the Tauren with an Orcish name was making my head spin.

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A Naked Troll
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 7: A Naked Troll

Also, I'd like to give a big shout-out to octantis who has been kind enough to help make my Zandali accent sound so much better. Thanks, tons! I couldn't do it without ya'.

The desert sun was bearing down outside The Drag and it was hot in Valley of Strength. But that heat outside was nothing compared to air pouring out of Boomstick Imports. Grom'tuk stepped inside and I poked my head in behind him.

The forge was fired up full-blast and standing inside the shop made you feel like your fur had been lit on fire.

Inside I saw a practically-naked Troll working a great double-bellows. Sweat was streaming down him like a waterfall. He stopped pumping when the great Tauren entered, scooped a mug of water from a basin, drained it, refilled it, and dumped the second mug over his bright, shaggy hair.

I don't want to sound envious, because I'm not, but I was fascinated by the Troll. Orcs and Tauren are massive and bulky, but Trolls have muscle definition that you just can't describe. They're tall and lanky, but they have muscles like knotted ropes. I do not know if this makes any sense, but it was as if he had no skin at all.

Their hands and faces are long too, like their bodies. Long chins, long noses, long fingers. And crazy hair! I wondered what made it stand on end like that. Tauren manes are so much more flat.

In a way, Trolls reminded me of gigantic mosquitoes. I suppose that sounds offensive, and I don't mean it to be.

We're just built so differently. Taurens are made for crashing through obstacles and Trolls are more adept at climbing over them. You'll never see a Tauren in a tree, but Trolls, if anything, looked out of place on the ground.

I could see why they favored their jungle homes over the desert or the plains. They must have been right at home there.

The Troll waved at the blacksmith who was just out of sight. "B'right back wit'a food, ma." He took a plain, light, linen robe off a hook and stepped outside the shop before slipping it over his head. I can't really blame him. If I had to work in such heat, I would only wear a simple loincloth too.

Perhaps there was some sense to wearing clothes made of cloth, after all.

He slapped a palm to my upper arm and gestured me into the small shop. "Gwan in, me gib y'some room fi standin'."

He turned and left, and that's when I noticed that Grom'tuk was arguing loudly with the shopkeeper. Actually, he was loud, but she was shouting in his face.

I stepped inside the crowded shop and my heart skipped a beat.

And then, as if to make up for the oversight, it began hammering away in my chest like a winded rabbit in a hollow log.

I could feel the insides of my ears turn bright red. In embarrassment, I laid them against my head, despite the stifling heat.

Kaja was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.

I don't know how much I should or shouldn't say here, as I don't want to tease or offend. Tauren and Orcs are great allies, but we don't... we don't think of each other.

Boy.

We don't... find each other attractive. Not any more than you might admire my kodo... or...

That didn't come out right.

I think my ears are turning red again.

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Kaja
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 8: Kaja

Here's a special shout-out to starcharmer who drew the awesome icon of a young Kaja. Thanks again, I love it!

Also, don't think I didn't notice that yesterday's episode got the most hits to date. Was it a coincidence that "Naked" was in the title? I somehow doubt it. Perhaps I should be making all my titles more provocative!

/sigh

Where was I? Oh yes, Kaja.

Kaja had beautiful tan fur with a white blaze on her chest and forehead. It was short, short fur like from the middle of your first summer. If she had even grown a winter coat here in the desert, she must have blown it out the first time she fired up the forge.

She was smudged here and there with soot from the forge. I could see where she had pushed her brown hair out of her eyes with the back of a hand.

Even over the strong aromas of oil, sparks on fur, and wet Troll, I could smell the short, straight hair she cropped at her shoulders. It was so unusual for a Tauren gal to not let it grow, but it must have been a relief in the heat. The scent of her sweat was making me feel more than a little dizzy. It was intoxicating.

Her face was hard and she gritted her teeth, but there was just something about the shape of her mouth and her dark eyes. I could tell that if she were to smile, that I would just melt into a puddle.

Tauren cows tend to be strong, but soft. I don't think anyone would call Kaja soft. She had just the sort of body you would expect to get from a lifetime of forming steel with a hammer.

She was muscular, and curvy, and a fire burned inside her that could smelt adamantite.

"Turn your tail around and march right out of here!" she yelled, one arm extended straight out the door.

As the Troll had stripped down to a loincloth to cope with the heat, Kaja wore her heavy leather blacksmith apron... and nothing else. As she pointed, one perfect breast emerged from behind it, waiting for Grom'tuk to leave.

I realized I was staring and silently closed my mouth.

Although no Orcish gal would strip this bare in Orgrimmar, Kaja's nudity did not offend the Orcs. As I said, they don't really view us in that way.

"I'm a gunsmith!" she yelled. "Do you think I get any titanium or cobalt out here? What makes you think I can repair your gear? Take it to Okothos and Borgosh! Have them clean up this mess."

Grom'tuk was fuming at this point, but instead of getting louder, he got quieter. He shifted seamlessly from Orcish to Taurahe to keep his words private. "The last time, Kaja, that Master Armorsmith Okothos repaired my gear," his words were slow and clearly enunciated, I thought the bulging vein in his neck might burst, "he mended my tail hole shut."

A silence stretched over the shop until Kaja erupted in laughter. Her eyes disappeared into perfect dark crescents and I thought I might faint. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and steal her away.

Grom'tuk gritted his teeth a moment before he too began to howl. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

Kaja put a hand tenderly to his cheek. "Okay, okay, set your gear there. I'll take care of it soon."

The bull began to disassemble his armor and arrange it carefully on a table. Kaja afforded him no privacy. She waited with hands on hips as he disrobed.

I was finding Orgrimmar most confusing. Our utankan norms and boundaries did not seem to apply here.

"So you talked to him?" she asked.

"I did, and he has granted my leave." He grinned up at her as he removed his greaves. She rolled her eyes. "Will you come with me?"

"Ha!" she hooted, loud and harsh. "And sell my business for what? Peasantry?" I thought she might spit.

The conversation died at that point. It was a shame. I wanted to hear her voice, but I felt like an outsider and dared not speak.

No one said a word until we were ready to leave. He had changed into dark, glossy cloth trousers and a light, fitted blouse that was only loosely fastened in the front, leaving much of his broad chest showing. It seemed strange to see a Tauren in cloth, but it was no more incongruous than anything else about Grom'tuk.

"Dinner?" he asked.

"When I close," Kaja replied, "not before."

She returned to her anvil and began to hammer on a small piece of cold iron. The conversation was done, but Grom'tuk and I couldn't manage to go. Instead we just stared at Kaja's beautiful tail as it traced a wide figure-eight in the air -- sweeping back and forth in time with the hammer-blows.

Kaja worked for another moment or two before releasing a loud and aggravated snort. She turned and pointed her hammer at Grom'tuk's face. In Taurahe, "Go now, or I'll hammer shut more than just your tail hole!"

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Tales of Mulgore
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 9: Tales of Mulgore

From Boomstick Imports we retired to The Axe and Hammer, a dingy inn just beyond the noise and commotion of the Valley of Strength. Innkeeper Gryshka hustled some Orcs away from a back table where they had been loitering over a game of chance. Before we could even ask what was on the grill, the table was piled high with spiced meat and crusty bread. It smelled delicious!

"To Thrall!" Grom'tuk shouted with flagon of mead held high. We all cheered and joined his toast.

When the cheers grew quieter, I shifted to Taurahe myself. "What do we celebrate today, Grom'tuk-ee?" The suffix I used connoted my respect.

He responded in Taurahe as well, "I'm sorry, my new friend."

"Brick," I volunteered.

"Brick! A warrior's name! Today we drink to my retirement." He grinned and toasted me. "To the Horde!" he yelled in Orcish. Again, the patrons cheered and grinned.

I was grinning too. You couldn't help yourself around Grom'tuk. "To your retirement, Grom'tuk-ee" I said with a smile.

His dark eyes sparkled and wrinkles gathered in the corners. He had a shaggy, tan hide and long braids of brown hair. His beard was thin and unkempt. It was splashed through with grey. One ear was notched, and his smile was contagious.

Despite being of obvious station, he wore only simple jewelry: a braided- leather bracelet; a simple, beaded necklace; the thick, steel, door-knocker-type nose ring favored by many Tauren men. He had not decorated his horns. They were short, rounded and black. I guessed that they had been chipped so many times in battle that he had opted to saw them down.

Over the hours that followed, he told me many stories of Northrend; of the strange peoples and creatures he had met, and of the battles he had seen. Despite the fascinating life he had lead, he kept coming back around to hear my own story.

I tried to tell him of my journey to Orgrimmar, but he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. He wanted to know more about life in Mulgore. He wanted to hear about my utankan and the nokee zhi I had seen. He wanted to hear about the mundane things like packing up the encampment and moving across the prairie. He wanted to hear about swimming in Stonebull lake and exploring the limestone caves.

I reflected back on my second summer and told him whatever seemed interesting. Not much of it was, but he seemed to drink it all in.

I told him of the winter that followed, and how my poalo and anohe (brothers and sisters) would hide in snowbanks and burst out on one another. I told him how the cows would shriek and the bulls would give chase. He laughed and clapped me on the back.

In retrospect, it all seemed so innocent now. My poalo and I had the big decision to make in the spring, of course. We had to choose whether we would stay with our own utankan or set out and try to find another. I did not know then that I would be sent away to serve the Horde.

Knowing that I would have to fight in the war made all our worries about competing for mates seem petty. I knew he understood.

I told him how we would rope-wrestle to impress the girls and his eyes lit up.

"Rope-wrestling! Oh, man, I had forgotten all about that. Orcs don't have rope wrestling, you see?"

"No rope-wrestling?" I couldn't even imagine life without such a fundamental thing.

"No trees," he explained. I guess that makes sense. How can you rope wrestle without trees?

He grinned like a mad bull and jumped to his feet, knocking his bench over in the process. "We have to rope-wrestle! We have to!"

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The Center of Attention
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 10: The Center of Attention

I stood and my head started to spin. That mead was like a low ceiling. It's best not to stand too quick.

"Rope wrastle?" I pinched my lips together between my thumb and primary finger. They felt a little numb and hesitant to cooperate. "But there's no trees. I'd rather not walk all the way to Ashenvale just to wrestle."

But Grom'tuk was unstoppable. He dropped some coins on the table and dragged me by the arm into the middle of the Valley of Strength.

In the valley's center stood a small rise from which the tiny goblin Rezlak presided over an auction of slaves.

"We require this space for a brief contest of skill," the big bull slurred.

"By your wish, my Lord," the goblin groveled. "No more bids!" he snapped at the crowd.

I looked around and suddenly felt very out of place. I was growing accustomed to being taller than the Orcs around me, but up upon the rise I suddenly felt like I was the center of attention.

I took a step back and stumbled into a thick pole. Looking slowly up, I realized it was more than that. A heavy beam was attached to the pole and a heavy rope was attached to the beam. There was no mistaking the noose at the end of the rope.

I gasped and stepped quickly away, only to realize that I was backing towards the pole's twin. I looked at the mob surrounding us and I felt more than just conspicuous. I felt like meat being auctioned off to the butchers. I wished I was back at the inn.

Grom'tuk snapped his fingers and pointed at a Troll over to the edge of the audience. "You!" The Troll looked worried. He pointed to his chest in clear hopes that the Tauren didn't mean him.

Grom'tuk tossed a coin to the Troll and then pointed up at the gallows. "I require a rope."

The Troll grinned wide in relief and shimmied on up the pole. Before I even realized what was going on, he was already down, handing the noose to Grom'tuk.

"What are the wagers, my Lord, for this little contest of skills?" The Goblin yelled over the quickly-growing crowd.

The large bull grinned wide. He reached deep in his purse and pulled out a small stack of golden coins. He displayed them to the audience in a slow, showman's sweep and then handed the stack over to Rezlak. The crowd cheered.

"And the challenger... What do you wager against Lord Grom'tuk's gold?" Rezlak called in a scary sing-song voice.

I pressed my palms together and pleaded quietly with the old bull. "My Lord! My Lord! I have no possessions the equal of that. Please let us..."

Grom'tuk cut me off by addressing the crowd, "I will tell our young friend here... what he wagers... when our contest is complete!"

The crowd went wild.

I can't say I liked the sound of that! I didn't know what to do, so I took one end of the rope and tied it securely around one of the poles. Grom'tuk did the same with the other end and the other pole. The rope hung loosely between them, up at chest-high at the poles, and knee-high in the middle.

Grom'tuk took off his shirt and dropped it on the ground. The crowd screamed louder still. Some Orcish gals pretended to faint at the sight of his furry chest.

I did the same and the audience roared with laughter.

"Best two out of three attempts!" he announced.

He then took off his pants and dumped them unceremoniously on top of his shirt. The noise was deafening. He strutted back and forth wearing only his small clothes, flexing his muscles.

Then the quickly-growing crowd's attention turned to me. I froze still for a moment; unsure of myself, but without a plan for escape.

My ears burned red, but I removed my drawers anyhow and set them atop my shirt. Some laughed, some screamed, some pointed at my small clothes in delight.

I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for the jeering to stop.

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Rope Wrestling
Can you believe it? I'm done! Done, done, done, done, done! I've written ~52,000 words to this story and I'm calling it done. That feels pretty damn good. It's a tad short to call it a novel, but it's not like I'm asking any of you guys to drop $8.95 on the counter for a paperback; so I don't expect to hear any gripes about how you're not getting your money's worth!

Whew. What an accomplishment. Even if you don't like the story, it's still that. "Ley Lines" was 35k words, and I think "Monstrous Motives" was like 60k words, so this is nothing to sneeze at.

I'm not sure how to best celebrate this. I haven't had any work in ages, so it's not like I can take myself out to dinner. I'm certainly open to suggestions. If you're in the area, feel free to buy me a shot of tequila!

Hmmm... Here's one gift that I can give to you: I guess I'll start posting episodes 5 days a week instead of 4. Even though I'm not worried about running the cache down, I'm still kind'a leery of posting on weekends.

Regardless of celebration, let's assume that I can predict the future from past events; so despite the manic energy I feel right now, I'll probably be wallowing in the depths of post-partum despair this time tomorrow. How can you help? It's easy.

If you've been following this story (please don't ask others to, unless they'd like to read/follow it also), whether you're a fan or not, please take a moment to post a comment tomorrow (Thursday) afternoon. You don't have to kiss my ass or anything, but post a quick sentence saying that you're reading it. That's it! That way, when I'm feeling at my lowest and bawling my eyes out like a baby, I can peek at the comments and be reassured that the effort hasn't been a waste, and that someone out there is reading it. That is, after all, why I'm writing it.

Thanks in advance! I appreciate it.

Oh yeah, it's an extra-long, bonus episode today too. Do I love you guys or what?

Index: [Previous] [First]

Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 11: Rope Wrestling

"Two gold on the challenger pays three on Lord Grom'tuk! Two pays three!" Rezlak called. Hands went to purses and the goblin happily collected the bets.

The old bull put a friendly arm around my shoulders and pulled me close so I could hear him over the roar. "I thank you for doing this, my new friend." I grinned with him. "But do not think for a moment that I'm gonna' go easy on you!"

"Nor shall I on you!" I promised. I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.

I took my place on one side of the rope and he took the other. I crouched down on all fours, preparing to sprint towards Grom'tuk, and he mirrored me on the other side.

We waited and waited. Soon the noise dropped to a whisper and Rezlak yelled that all bets were in.

"No!" I yelled.

"Owa!" Grom'tuk yelled.

Then together, "Halii!"

In unison, we charged to the center, and I had been right to count on the speed advantage I had over the older bull. I dodged gracefully to the side and grabbed the rope with one hand, lifting it up as high as I could.

Grom'tuk could not stop his charge and went right under the rope, across the rise, and onto his face; tail high in the air.

The crowd gasped with a single voice. Whatever they had been expecting, this was not it.

I grinned like a maniac and casually hopped over the rope. I lifted both hands in victory and the silent crowd stared. They had never seen rope-wrestling before, and had no idea what the rules were.

But Grom'tuk did. He picked himself up, dusted himself off, and returned to the rope. "Very tricky, little calf!" he laughed. "One:zero it is."

Although typically a test of strength, rope-wrestling really only has one rule: whichever challenger crosses over the rope first, wins.

The silence was palatable and stretched until Rezlak cried, "Three gold on the challenger pays four on Lord Grom'tuk! Additional bets! Three pays four!"

The cheers erupted louder than ever and even more money was exchanged. At least I had improved the odds slightly.

Businesses closed their doors so that the shopkeepers could join the crowd. From atop the rise, I could see more people streaming in from the other canyons and up ladders to get a better view.

There would be no tricking the old bull twice. This time I stood toe to toe with him and waited for the crowd to get ready.

"No!" he yelled.

"Owa," I replied.

As one, we grabbed each others arms and jockeyed for position. I grabbed a wrist and he grabbed my elbow. "You're very strong..." I mustered, "for such... an old man."

It was bluster and he knew it. I had never wrestled with any Tauren this strong.

I dug my hooves into the sand and tried to get a little more leverage.

Suddenly our grips broke and we were flailing at each other, trying to get a better hold.

The crowd went wild.

My left arm was trapped underneath his right. I reached over his shoulder and grabbed his chin, slowly pulling it to one side as Grom'tuk tried to lock his hands behind my back.

"Concede..." he grunted.

"Never!" I replied.

He grasped his hands together and I pulled harder on his chin, struggling against his massive neck muscles.

As one, we grunted; but while I pulled, he lifted. My hooves left the ground, and I knew that my defeat was imminent. I tried to hook an ankle around his knee but it was too late. Grom'tuk toppled forward like a fallen tree and landed hard on top of me.

Air whooshed out of my lungs and stars twinkled before my eyes.

"One:one, my young friend," he laughed and helped me to my feet.

I hurt so much already. At least the challenge was nearly over.

There were bets being placed. I was sure of that, but it was all one big roar.

We took our places and smiled. "However this next bout goes..." I said.

"...it's been a pleasure," he finished for me.

We shook hands... no... owa... halii.

As quickly as I could, I ducked down over the rope and grabbed both of Grom'tuk's knees. If I could just unbalance him...

The old bull stooped down on top of me and grabbed my thighs.

I rocked to the tips of my hooves and shoved with my head. I tried to lift him up off of the ground, but it was just no use. His grip was like iron and I could not break it.

Suddenly the world upended and we were spinning, spinning, spinning. Two Taurens strung on rope, spinning like a giant child's toy.

We came to rest on our backs and laid there on the rise amid a chorus of shouts, staring up at the sky, our legs tangled in rope.

I could hear him struggling to catch his breath so I kicked gently at him with one hoof. "Did I win?"

"I'm afraid not," he chuckled, "my young friend."

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Spoils to the Victor
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Guess a couple people are watching this... Thanks for the well-wishes. It helps keep the blues away.

Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 12: Spoils to the Victor

When we had regained our breath, we tied on our pants and walked off the rise. Various people clapped us on the back, congratulating his win and consoling my loss.

I followed him to the relative quiet of The Drag. Over my shoulder, I could see Orcish children playing on the rope we had left. They tried to imitate what they had seen. It seemed a far better use for the old rope and poles.

I pulled on my shirt and he slung his over a shoulder. "Dare I ask what I have lost?"

He smiled and put an arm on my shoulders. "I want your utankan."

"What?" He might as well have asked for the land under my feet or the sky over my head.

"At the end of my first summer... that must have been... seven years ago? My utankan was attacked by centaurs. That was the height of the centaur wars, you know, before we liberated Mulgore.

"The centaurs showed no mercy and the entire tribe was wiped out. They would have killed us all, had a nearby company of Horde soldiers not seen the smoke. I'll never forget that day, if I live to be twenty."

He sighed wistfully, lost in his thoughts. "The soldiers drove the centaurs away, but so few of us survived... myself, my anohe Kaja, a couple other calves, and some wounded elders."

The Tauren utankan is an extended family. We do bond with our parents and children, but it is most unlike an Orcish family. All the adults raise all the children.

Poalo and anohe do mean brother and sister, but more specifically they refer to calves that were born in the same utankan on the same year. It's not really about which Tauren share the same parentage. We don't obsess over bloodlines and such. Every Tauren in an utankan is family.

"There were not enough of us left to go on, and the other tribes were hiding across the Barrens, so the army took us back to Orgrimmar. I became a soldier and fought for the Horde. Kaja became a gunsmith.

"Seven years ago..." He shook his head. "Our elders are all gone now. I probably still have a poalo in Outlands or Northrend, but the utankan is dead. Kaja is the only family I have left."

"So you want my... family?"

"Thrall has released me from duty and I will see Mulgore. I will live in our homeland." He smiled and his eyes gathered wrinkles, "I have earned that much. But I have no family to return to."

I was incredulous. "You're a hero of the Horde. Any utankan would want you. Although the older males will not be happy," I grinned, "to compete with you for mates. So why bother with such a silly wager?"

He grinned to himself, savoring some private joke as we walked. Then he slapped me hard on the back.

"This will make for a better story to tell your own calves, someday..."

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