Don't Poke The Bear! (Warcraft/Furbolg)

Walking in the shadow of the kodo with a tree trunk behind, I ignored its nervousness in my presence as I sucked on an iron nugget like it was a lollipop. In the first few weeks, it had been bizarre to see stones as worthwhile 'food' the first few months as an ursa totemic, but instincts were instincts, and I needed mineral supplements primarily for my claws and, to a lesser extent, bones, and teeth.

My diet, while rich in many things, from meats to roots and, most importantly, honey I ate, couldn't bring everything in the perfect proportion. In around three years–close to fourteen–I would be an adult physically speaking, but it was rock munching until then and occasionally in the future.

While my skeleton wasn't wholly turning like that of that Canadian Marvel character. I didn't have silvery bones, nor were they indestructible. It progressively reinforced them to support my strength and resist trauma and stress better, making them heavier as well.

It was a bit of a double-edged sword since it affected my flight speed in exchange for toughness, but my bat form was never the fastest or most maneuverable anyway. I was a heavy bear, let's say.

For my claws and, as of recently, teeth–the latter of which usually happens much later but got me this ever-shining smile, luckily not the rusted tint of beaver–it wasn't that different. Good old keratin and enamel would suffer at the force I operate.

They would snap, break, and wear out too fast; they were prime weapons for me and any ursa totemics. And unlike regular animals, we fought a lot; training was a constant and a way to pass the time.

It wasn't shocking. We drew from our ancestry. And the jalgars didn't only attack the iron vrykul invading their territory for defense. Our ancestors saw them as giant human-shaped mineral supplement snacks like they saw proto-dragons as potential prey material.

Not that either of the two ever proved to be sympathetic; it was the inevitable conflict that led to us.

Anyway, it was why the hit from the fuckwit cow, Helka, as I learned from Orthus, did so little. It hurt and did actual damage. I wasn't invulnerable, but calling it even a scratch would be supremely generous.

She bruised and barely sprained my paw, and I healed the 'damages' the following second. She likely would have broken a few bones on a regular furbolg warrior to get then mauled to death.

Our strength was just nigh entirely in our upper body and, as such, greater overall, and she was a lithe female built for agility. The real danger for me she had was her horns.

Gorring one of my eye sockets to scramble my brain or destroy my heart with those would have been her best chance if she decided to go this even more suicidal route. But that was improbable unless I didn't move, stood to my full height, or defended myself. I doubt her horns could even reach my heart.

I wanted to know what she had in mind if something had been upstairs from the beginning.

"Hn, I wonder. Why did you attack me? That was shockingly unintelligent." I asked, still munching metal, my interlocutor glaring at me from the other side of the kodo, massaging where I brutally tickled her liver. She was all patched up.

It wasn't that bad of an injury. I knew a lot about theoretical taurens anatomy thanks to kaldorei literature, and I only did enough damage to make her keel over in mind-boggling agony.

The elves were good at that despite their abysmal understanding of microbiology–not that I knew a lot, but at least I had a grasp of it–and under, aside from unsure hypotheses. There were hints they knew more, but it was probably lost during the Sundering, like most of their specialized knowledge or Arcane-related things.

"It's my duty as a mighty Grimtotem to fell beasts like yo-" And I interrupted her, the heat, despite a few gulps of an elixir to resist it and walking in the shadow doing little to ultimately reduce my frustration at the fucking deathly laser beam above.

Considering I wasn't a fan of her, I knew I could snap if I let her rant. And I wasn't sure if I would be kind enough to reattach her limbs after.

"I scared you then? Well, my bad. It wasn't my intention; I didn't know you were skittish. I won't judge your tri-" She spat heatedly, "Nonsense! A mere beast like you cannot scar-!"

I happily went on with a dismissive paw wave, root sneakily snaking at her hooves, making her fall with a mooing yelp, "-be. My point is you prove to be a poor example of your people. Dull, self-righteous, and brash by attacking a stranger without attempting to communicate first for no reason. Unless furbolgs are one of your enemies, odd since you don't seem to recognize what I'm. Are we enemies, Orthus? Please do tell."

He jumped, tail rapidly swishing between his muscular legs, and fumbled an answer. It would be adorable if he didn't reek of fear, and that wasn't what I wanted here. At all.

But I can praise him for one thing: he had incredibly more common sense than the average kaldorei citizen while keeping his calm, respectful, and polite demeanor.

"N-no! Not at all! It's the centaurs! The foul centaurs are the taurens' mortal foe for tens of generations. They forced us from our sacred land, mercilessly butchering us by the thousands to paint the Earthmother with our blood and corpses of braves and calves alike! Today, they relentlessly hunt us to use our skin as leather, parade our corpses, and feast on our calves till we are extinct!" He noticeably became more heated and confident toward the end.

I let a few seconds pass for him to cool down, and Helka blessed us with a closed thigh muzzle.

"That's far worse than expected from our tale," I said since there wasn't anything else to say, it was a statement. I wasn't feeling sorry to any great length. Oh, it was horrific, but that was that. And I don't think Orthus wants my false pity. However, there was an unmistakable thirst–a distinct sharp smell–for half-horsey blood, even if he didn't appear to realize that.

"If I'm not mistaken… There are harpies, too? The spirits whisper of their presence and the destruction they brought." He gave me a shivering nod while the cow continued her internal fuming. Good, she can keep it up; I believe in her.

By all accounts, I was certain harpies were, as a whole, far less problematic than centaurs for the taurens, but that didn't make them any better.

Their only method of reproduction without essentially cloning themselves with all the problems inherent to it–magically inferior, high aggression, physically weaker, less fertile, intelligent, and talented chicks, among others–was through copulation with a male of another species, preferably humanoids. And many theories were saying with proof that they took some of the fathers' traits.

Unless the personal record of Lana, a long-since dead harpy who wrote about her species, was wrong or the author was someone else. I wouldn't trust biased data, but it wasn't the only book saying that. Let's say harpies had been a favorite of many, male and female, even if the latter had far less 'recorded' success.

How it worked, while fascinating to study if possible, wasn't as important as the impact of Aviana's death; a non-insignificant portion of the mono-gendered species saw consent as a nebulous idea. Bluntly put, beyond their current ways of life that didn't respect the environment they settled in, the act of rape was a pillar of their culture. Not all, I wasn't fond of absolutes, but outliers didn't make the rule.

"Yes." He paused, another shudder with a deep hiss, "But it's… different. They are no better with their cunning and trickery but make for less unpleasant neighbors from their low population and frail bodies."

It didn't take a genius to know there was a history behind it, but it was none of my concern… As if I could do anything, and like with the centaurs, lying won't help. I wasn't even sure if it was tied to him directly or a close one. Whatever, I'm not going that route: too much effort and no payback.

"Hmm, Ashenvale has little harpies and no centaurs. Compared to you, we have peace and friends with the night elves. But we have different pests, satyrs. Ancient half-demons living solely to corrupt the lands and all that lives within for their sick pleasures." I let out. My dislike for the elvish goats was clear in my tone, and I got a nod, but alas, no further questions, so the discussion awkwardly ended.

I tried to open another but didn't know where to go or how to navigate it. I wasn't good at this and had asked all I could think of earlier. As such, I decided to shut up as we marched with only companions, the harsh winds and sound of our steps for another hour until we stopped at the Sun Rock Retreat, coincidentally where I was going.

It wasn't luck since an important event was happening around that time of the year, apparently a sacred ceremony to the ancestors. My plan, if I could call it, had been to garner contact outside and possibly get invited in. Forcing myself in was of very bad taste and, as such, never in the plan.

I just didn't expect to be found out by one of their shamans on my first night and contacted right away. It was what those two were sent for. There wasn't any alternative I could accept.

The tree I chose was only a convenient excuse since there was absolutely no way they would choose this one among hundreds for any reason other than my presence.

It was an interesting choice of 'escorts,' too, but I will see where it leads, and depending on how annoying it is, I will dip out. My goals here were to advance my knowledge and proficiency in healing first and foremost; everything else was secondary.

I had… a bit more freedom and plenty of test dummies available here in the forms of the bovine people's enemies and them to a lesser, less invasive, and unconsenting extent. It was also to monitor for orcish and human sudden appearances even if my stay here won't extend that long. By the ancestors, I pray, despite its futility, they appear as late as possible.

The closer we got to the entrance to the Sun Rock Retreat, encapsulated by mountains, the more apparent it became and the greener it got. The structures became visible with the jarring color shift.

'Those are some tall and colorful totems.' I remarked at the spire-like bovine-themed construct with occasionally other animals like raptors, kodos, and the like in varying colors from bright blue, white, deep orange, etc. It was different from the more lifelike status and carving that melted into nature we did.

Those weren't mere decorations despite looking as such. Spirits were thick in the air, ancestral and elemental, with few and far between of the wilds. This entire place was profoundly spiritual, and the totems probably served as amplifiers with other supporting and active roles.

They swiftly took the backseat of my focus as taurens appeared from the body paints; it was mainly Grimtotem. There was a lot of confusion in the air, with an equal amount of tension, distrust, and straight-up hostilities.

Them from the corner of my eyes, I saw Helka smirk. I frowned. Whatever she had in mind was moronic, but doing anything to stop her wasn't any wiser.

'I hate those situations.' I internally growled, ears swiveling around as I settled, mentally prepared to act just in case. I couldn't say that a part of me–bestial and primitive–didn't want to let go.

Then an elderly tauren female of similar features and smell came into view, rushed even. She didn't appear pleased with her younger counterparts, and a hint of a smile formed on my snout.

The diplomatic fiasco was avoided; Magatha Grimtotem had arrived, for the tauren that appeared couldn't be anyone else. Unless this tribe had many powerful shamans of her likeness and what I asked was answered wrongly. Or my knowledge on that front was erroneous.

She had a grey muzzle and graying black fur with heavy wrinkles, yet her eyes showed no sign of aging, nor did her body with how swift her movements were.

She was dressed in a long robe of sewed animal hides with sharp bony protrusions and on her head a bronze helmet that didn't impede her horns or her only two braids adorned with feathers and pearl. In one of her hands was a thin staff of black wood where, from its tip, green feathers wavered in the wind.

I didn't know much about her from my past life memories beyond that she was an ambitious, manipulative, highly intelligent, and ruthless old woman. Also hated by many for killing another tauren leader–Cairne–which I hadn't shared since I began playing years later.

Though if she fancied herself more clever than she was, I would happily skewer her.

Other than that, she was the absolute spiritual and political leader of the Grimtotem tribe.

So I wasn't dealing with a sweet grandma, and she proved it right there and then without a hint of restraints.

"Aunt Magatha, this beast attacked me-" The resounding sound of a slap echoed as Helka was hit square in the snout. And so it confirmed this old tauren was Magatha and didn't aim to kill me, amusingly saving everyone here. But the same part that had wanted to fight was disappointed.

The hit wasn't strong enough to seriously harm Helka, physically speaking, but emotionally… yeah, the younger tauren was shell-shocked, to put it gently. And from the look of everyone, I don't think a public display like this was usual.

Without missing a beat, Magatha spoke. It was low and threatening, the winds seemingly making it impossible to grasp, but with my inhumanly sharp hearing and my translation spell with the ancestors sharing their senses, I got the gist of it.

It essentially was about how she was a failure and a good thing she couldn't spread her genes. The words 'bare womb' and my diagnosis had shown this much.

'Ouch… If that isn't the harsh truth... Suck for her, but that doesn't fill my empathy bar back up…'

Though this was likely a ploy, this old female wasn't a paragon of virtue.

I could see the potential in why Magathan would send her reckless, infertile granddaughter with a gentle male to get to me and then publicly apologize.

I wasn't sure of anything. It could be many things, for example, me killing Helka in self-defense and using it on me. It was extreme and just as convoluted.

I can't tell whichever it was. Or even if I was looking too deep. Magatha was a real person here, not a character in a book or a bunch of ones and zeros, and I knew nothing of substance.

I hate these kinds of mind games and their limitless possibilities; let's be careful and generally amiable toward her, and it should be smooth sailing. If not, she isn't the only tauren leader in existence.

It would be annoying, but I wouldn't bend backward; that was certain.

I can only hope for her she played it smart.

After a series of hand gestures, two warriors picked up Helka, and the elderly shaman's attention, which never entirely left me, was now entirely on me. Her expression shifted to amiability and shame, all the while remaining proud…

It was a strange mix to see in person and not through television from a politician with exceptional acting skills.

"M-" I went on, ignoring that she began; she can give me that, probably not the most diplomatic, but it wasn't her who had a failed murder attempt two hours ago. I could afford some mishaps, well, a lot of mishaps.

"May Ursol guide you and Ursoc give you strength. I'm Ohto of the Greenweald, a furbolg, a warrior and shaman… actually, a druid by your custom. But that's beside the point. I have come from the forest to satisfy my curiosity. Would it be possible? I'm skilled in all manner of healing and an able fighter. If not, I will not waste my time and go elsewhere." I declared with a thin smile in all fell swoop, dumping everything at once.

"My greeting, young one. I'm Magatha, the Elder Crone, matriarch, and leader of the Grimtotem tribe. I must apologize for my granddaughter's actions. She is lucky that you have shown restraint, and for this, I'm thankful… As for your request, I do not see a reason to refuse. I will give you hospitality if you prove helpful." She spoke calmly, opposite to a second ago. But there was a fierce sharpness still.

'Eh, that went better than my worst estimate.' I thought as I agreed.

*

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