I am Maralah, Elder of Pack Spirit, once known as the Den Mother. I survive to tell stories of the past, the most important of these to me are the stories of the Pack. Sit now and listen.
The first story I will tell is of the beginning... the story of Tocho and Artan and how Pack Spirit came to be.
Long ago my brother Tocho and I lived in Bloodhoof Village. Like many youth he was independant, but in his case he was also withdrawn. He chose to keep to himself and often took long trips from the Village... I often said it was to avoid work, but in truth Tocho always finished his tasks before he went off on an excursion.
On one particular foray Tocho found himself far from home in unfamiliar territory. Unafraid he continued to explore and rounded a corner to come face to face with a bear! Tocho was so startled he froze and the bear, who had raised his arm to strike, pulled his paw at the last moment... perhaps in surprise. Tocho was still wounded, not mortally, but he bore the scar for the rest of his life. Whatever transpired between these two only they could say, but something sparked between them and they became friends after a fashion.
Tocho made many visits to see Artan, as he came to call the bear, and shared with him all of his life, telling stories to the animal of the tauren way of life. In turn, Artan showed Tocho about nature in a way his tauren instructors could never do. Both tauren and bear grew to be more than they would have had they not met.
Perhaps it was Artan's influence that then drew Tocho to the druids in Bloodhoof, but it didn't take long for Tocho to begin his training. All during his training Tocho continued to visit Artan. Finally the day came when Tocho took his oath and learned to shift into the shape of a bear. What joy!
Immediately Tocho left the village, I remember he practically vibrated with excitement though I didn't realize why at the time, to visit Artan. Imagine how much they could share now that Tocho was able to assume the same form as his furred brother. Oh the adventures they could go on, the things they could teach one another.
But the joyful reunion was not meant to be. When Tocho arrived at Artan's cave he rounded the bend to find a sight that shocked, horrified, and sickened him. Before him lay the corpse of his dear friend, inert, lifeless and mutilated almost beyond recognition. Tocho cried out and fell to his knees, almost missing the hunter slipping into the shadows blood on his hands. A night elf.
There would be time for vengeance later, Tocho wept for his friend and took the time to return Artan's body to nature in the tauren way. He spent weeks in that cave mourning the loss of a dear companion and true friend before finally returning to Bloodhoof Village to complete his training with the druids.
Each month during his training Tocho would return to the cave and do as he had done when Artan lived, tell the bear of his adventures and daily life. It was on one of these visits near the end of Tocho's training that Artan appeared to him... in the ghostly shape of a tauren. What took place between the two, again only they could say, but I know the joy that was in my brother's eyes... albeit tinged with sadness... when he returned from that journey.
With the guidance of his spiritual friend Tocho formed the Pack. Pack Spirit. Among the first were Onatam, Demelza, Khazrikieh, Melgrum, Vasgor and me, though every Packmate met Artan and was given opportunity to seek his guidance. We Druids, Shaman, and Hunters lived by a strict code, at it's core the lessons taught and learned by Tocho and Artan. We few who remain will always be a part of the Pack though we are scattered now.
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