Mistreavers Brief History

After picking the brain of the GM of Mistreavers, I put his idea into story synopsis.

The Mistreavers formed over the years in three stages and remains today split into three factions. The story begins with the Misthoof tribe, a tribe of Tauren long forgotten by all but a select few.

Before the orcs came to Kalimdor when the Tauren were still nomadic the Misthoof were strong, active and self-sacrificing. They ended up making the ultimate sacrifice when a massive band of ravaging centaur was threatening the other ten main tribes (who eventually united under Cairn Bloodhoof). In a narrow valley in Thousand Needles, the Misthoof volunteered to stop the tide of centaur to allow the other tribes to escape. The Misthoof non-combatives were divided among the other tribes and the warriors stayed to defend...knowing they would not survive. The warriors only managed to delay the centaur but it was enough to allow the others escape. All of the Misthoof tribe, save for the sick, elderly and children who were with the other tribes, were wiped out. Eventually the name Misthoof was forgotten by all but the most studious historians.

Many years later, many years, a warrior Tauren of the Stonehoof tribe, learned of the Sun God and made a change in his life. He became a paladin, among some of the first Tauren who converted. While Korouk grew up a Stonehoof, he never forgot the day he said good-bye to his parents in Thousand Needles. Now an Elder in his own right, Korouk no longer sheds tears for the lost tribe... instead he seeks to restore its remnants. Seeking help from a Shaman well known to him, Onatam, he called upon the guardian spirits of the Misthoof, perhaps half thinking they would not answer, but eventually they did. The Tribe was formed from those of Misthoof blood.

The Guardians realized that the Tauren who formed the Tribe now needed an infusion of warrior spirits and set off in search of suitable candidates. What they found was another lost clan, this time of orcs. A strong band of Bleeding Hollow Orcs, called the Warhost, led by a Lieutenant of Kilrogg Deadeye. These orcs were given insight by their oracles into Guldan's upcoming betrayal and set about to stop it. They were not successful in protecting the Eye of Sargeras, but their sacrifice allowed Doomhammer the time to destroy Guldan. The Warhost was gone but their descendants remained... and joined with The Tribe, forming the Mistreavers.

Now the Mistreavers had Soul and a Sword, what they needed was compassion. The Guardians found this in the unlikeliest of places... in the Blackstone Syndicate. Lord Blackstone was a ruthless smuggler and cutthroat with an operation based out of Lordaeron. He even had ties with the High Elves of Silvermoon who made their home in Murder Row. When the Scourge started making their presence known, however, something change in Lord Blackstone. Instead of smuggling drugs, he smuggled people out of undead hot zones. He drove the operation into the ground to save his people, and what elves he could, from the Scourge. Lord Blackstone's luck finally ran out, though, when he was murdered. The few remaining members of his organization fled under new leadership. Each leader of the Syndicate since has met with untimely death, it was finally taken over by Talmai and pulled into the Mistreavers.

A Time to Heal

Originally written for a creative writing contest on Emerald Dream (NA), a server for the game World of Warcraft.

A Time to Heal

The forest is never truly still... so when I say she sat perfectly still I do not mean there was not motion about her. She knelt and watched the folk below, and the wind rustled her fur where it was not protected by her leather garment. Her ears twitched now and then as small insects buzzed past. The words spoken by those far below the cliff were lost in the wind, but she watched none-the-less... and I, so much younger, far more inexperienced, did my best to remain patient.

The sound of my own breathing seemed as loud as thunder and I struggled to breathe with less fervor. My mind raced with possibilities, questions unasked, guessed answers and theories. So lost in my own musings was I, that I almost missed her slowly moving back from the cliff edge. She stood when far enough back and motioned for me to follow, her tail lashing with minor irritation. I followed.

It was not long before she stopped once again and sat, this time inviting me to join her. "Tell me," she said in a low voice, deep and penetrating, "tell me what you have observed."

I stared, aghast, she had not said I would be tested! What had I observed? nothing more than a group of our own people speaking with others of the Horde. I cringed and shared what I could of my meager observations.

"There were several people, most of them tauren, and they seemed angry. While I could not hear their words or even their tone I could see the sharp gestures of people in argument or aggitation." I paused then, not sure what else I might say. What more can I observe when I cannot hear them.

Ever patient, maddeningly so, she waited, watching me. I felt my face flush beneath my fur and looked down at my hooves, frantically trying to think of what else I had seen. Finally I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes unbidden. I knew I had failed this test but I was curious and wished to know more. "Please tell me?"

She nodded, almost sadly, and spoke again in that deep melodic voice, "the anger is a blanket that covers the sadness. The aggitation a bandage to soothe the pain. You can see it in their faces and in the slump of their shoulders. A part of them is missing, the call for blood is a way to try and avenge what was taken from them. But as you've learned, revenge does not heal the wound... it only distracts from it."

I bit back a retort, angry that she would take even this moment to remind me of my past failures, instead I concentrated on listening to the rest of what she had to say. I looked up to see her quietly watching the internal struggle play out over my face. Abashed I felt my anger drain from me, once again her receptive student.

"There is much healing that needs to be done," she continued. "I want you to go among them, learn of their pain and help them to cope with it. Become one of them and learn what motivates them. And observe. Learn to see what lies beneath. When you have done this you will be ready for the rest of what I can teach you."

This time my silence was not a bitten back retort, but a lack of any cohesive thought to express. My mind raced, I had been with her for so many years and now I was to leave to live with strangers? What if they did not accept me? What if I could not heal their pain? Why would they open their arms to a stranger? When I looked up from my thoughts, she was gone. It was with a heavy heart and leaden hooves that I made my way into Splintertree Post from the cliff above.

They looked at me suspiciously as I approached, as if I had something to do with the pain I could now see clearly. The one I had observed as being the most agitated stepped forward to stand before me, staring me down, his anger directed at me though I was not the cause.

I straightened up, allowing my pride to infuse my spine with steel, and spoke with confidence I did not feel. "I am Onawetaya and I have come to join you."

The tauren that stood before me nearly laughed, amusement twinkled in his eyes behind the ever present pain. His voice, when he spoke, was deeper than mine, "I am Onatam Bloodtotem of Pack Spirit... and we shall see."