Azerothian Dream Ch. 05

Chapter 5- Lessons in Hunting

"The first thing you need to learn is how to shoot anything that hurls a projectile," Pinkerpie lectured as she set out a bow, a crossbow, and a blunderbuss on a makeshift table.

Each weapon was followed by a quiver of arrows, a case of bolts, and a pouch of shot made up of lead balls. Of course then there was the gunpowder and replacements for the flint. Just so I could see the progression of firearms through history I set my pistols and rifle on the table as well, including clips of ammo and belts of bullets.

For the next two hours Pinkerpie instructed me on the parts of each weapon and how to maintain or replace every part when and if necessary. Once we came to my weapons it was my turn to instruct her on the internal working of the pistols, their fabrication, especially the barrel, and their ammo. So far no one had developed or mass produced bullets. The idea of waterproof ammo was very exciting to Pinkerpie, and even more so when she saw how quickly reloading was.

"What do you call these fine weapons," She asked as she pointed a pistol at the target.

"Just line up the sights, and then point and pull," I said softly.

She fired and nearly squealed as she laughed, "The recoil is nothing like the blunderbuss!"

"Exactly," I laughed, "It makes it where you can fire faster with more accuracy. I call the pistols M1911s, and the rifle I call a Winchester 1894. They are based on guns from my world."

"Fascinating!" Pinkerpie whispered as she handled the pistol and then set it on the table, "I'd love to tear it apart and find out how it works, but maybe another time."

After practicing shooting until I was fairly proficient with the bow and crossbow, we spent the least amount of time on shooting the blunderbuss and more time on learning how to load the damn thing. In return Pinkerpie practiced shooting my pistols and rifle. By midday we left our makeshift range and we talked as Pinkerpie showed me how to track the various local animals. By prints on the ground and what certain scuff marks on trees meant.

"Now, sit and get comfortable," Pinkerpie commanded as we rounded a large tree west of Thelsamar.

"What are we doing now?" I asked.

"Learning how to truly track beasts," Pinkerpie answered as she sat cross-legged opposite of me. She looked me up and down and then continued, "The first thing you need to understand is that this world is a world of magic. Almost everyone has some arcane ability, though the best usually become mages or priests, and then there are the others that dabble in what they ought not such as necromancy. Later, I will teach you how to harness the arcane magics within you in order to amplify your shots, but for now let's focus on another magical talent, Beast Tracking."

Looking off to her left she pointed and said, "About a hundred feet that way is a black bear. If you look hard you can see him."

I did look, but I saw nothing.

Smiling, she continued, "It's alright if you can't, though I find this part easier if you can. Now, close your eyes and visualize that there is a bear over there. Once you have, I want you to reach out with your mind. Let it take wing, kind of like you're a bird flying above the trees."

"Or like a bat's screeches and receiving them back like sonar," I added excitedly.

"Yes, that too," She said, though she was apparently confused by what I meant, "Your magic is like a muscle, once you start trying to expand your consciousness it will automatically give your mind the power you need to do so. It will be weak at first but then soon you will be able to feel every animal within a hundred yards of you or more."

We sat there for a long time. For the better part of the rest of the afternoon, and just when I was tired and frustrated, and about to give up, I felt her. A small black bear. She was eating berries. She was young, only months separated from her mother. Hadn't even slept through one winter on her own yet. But, there was plenty of food and she was putting on weight at a very good pace. Now, all she needed to do was find herself a good cave...

My connection seemed to fade away like something was turning down the volume, and then I felt the world tilt. Pinkerpie was right there waiting for me. She caught my head as I collapsed, and then slowly lowered me down into her lap as she whispered, "You did it husband, and on the very first day of training. You really do have some talent as a hunter!"

That was the last I heard before darkness swept over me.

----(!)----

The smell of pine was thick in the air as I awoke. In my previous life, on Earth, Megan and I had lived in a city. Not a huge city, but it was growing, and it was busy. There was always noise. Alarms. Traffic. Sirens. Honking. Even in our apartment there were always sounds of people. Walking. Talking. Yelling. Singing. Fighting. Making love. Then I found myself in Azeroth and within Blackrock it was still always loud, and even when it was quiet there was a constant thrum, like the mountain itself was breathing. Even Thorium Point was loud. But as I woke up all I heard was the wind blowing softly through the grass and trees. The scratch of pine needles and the shake of leaves. The grass sounded like thousands of pieces of paper being softly rubbed against each other, and then there was a sudden scent of honeysuckle interlaced with pine sap.

Fluttering my eyelids a soft small hand combed my hair out of my face as I looked up into large indigo eyes framed by blue lashes and earthy green skin. Pinkerpie gave me a plump lipped smile before saying, "I never knew it would be so hard to not fall for a man that naps with his head in my lap. Who would have guessed? I certainly didn't! I never wanted to fall in love, much less get married, but now here I am. Married, and falling in love!"

"It happens to the best of us," I chuckled.

"I guess!" She sighed heavily before leaning in and kissing me just as soundly as I ever had been by Birdette or Megan.

Her lips were so plump, and soft. She kissed me, and I returned her kiss with one of my own. When we finally withdrew for a breath she whispered, "Wow! I think I'll let you nap on my lap more often."

I chuckled and started to lean in for more kisses but she pulled back with a, "We should head back. It's getting late, and I don't want those racist dwarves to not feed us because we missed dinner time."

Looking around for the first time I realized that it was dusk. The sun was still up, but had disappeared behind the mountains some time ago and night was quickly descending. Climbing to my feet, I offered Pinkerpie a hand up, and then we hurried back to Thelsamar.

The sky was clear and ablaze in a dazzling array of silvery white light as the stars twinkled all around us. The land rolled like black waves of the sea, and the trees reached up like dark fingers as it the land around them were always reaching for those far off twinkling silver specks in the sky.

The smells of pine, oak, honeysuckle diminished as the scent of wood smoke filled the air. Full dark came as we trotted through the forested foothills of Loch Modan. It was more beautiful than any game could ever do justice. The night was filled with quiet, but it wasn't soundless. Just muted. Every now and then there was a soft bird trill high in the tree boughs. Bugs buzzed as they flew by, frogs gulped, crickets fiddled creating a nighttime symphony I hadn't heard since I was a kid camping with my parents on my earth, and over it all there was the soft crunch of old leaves and pine needles beneath our boots.

Then the night receded away from the warm glow of yellow light from lanterns hanging from hooks near porches or entry doors to homes that dotted the hillsides of Thelsamar. There was enough light emitting a small glow from the small dwarven town that it radiated up as if from a crack in the ground, and yet, as we drew closer, what would have appeared as a dark smudge where the earth seemed to fold and crease was now well lit, warm, and inviting.

The buzz of raucous laughter and talk greeted us as we bustled into the Stoutlager Inn. The warm glow of the lanterns outside was a pale and weak thing compared to the Stoutlager's tavern room. By far the majority of the dwarves were men with a full third being women. The younger generation most of the menfolk were black haired and bearded with those with fiery red and golden blond hair speckling the crowd sparingly. The older dwarves had gray or white speckled temples while the oldest were crowned in full heads and beards of white. Of the younger women auburn and fiery redheads outnumbered those with raven black or golden blond the color wheat ready for harvest while the old women were as often as not were as white haired as the men. Where thick beards covered the men's faces the women's faces were fresh and soft with round face or square, and broad thick-lipped smiles or pouty frowns as they reacted to the loud comradery filling the room.

Music played on a guitar, a fiddle, strange metal drums, and what I could only figure might be a base came to a screeching halt as Pinkerpie and I walked into the room. Bright eyes of green and blue and as many of hazel, brown, and auburn stared at me like eagles as I scanned the room. The raucous laughter, good natured banter, and animated talk stopped leaving the room in deafening silence. The waitresses looked at me with mixed expressions of hostility and shock while the red faced innkeeper sucked on his teeth and shook his head.

I suddenly felt anger surge up inside and in defiance I reached out and took Pinkerpie's small green hand and led her to a table in a corner and sat down. Everyone watched, but someone made a comment that someone else laughed at. Conversations sprouted up, but they were muted as everyone was interested in what was going to happen next.

The musicians started up again. The guitarist sang a happy tune about a goblin trying to sell a teapot but finding herself married to a frog instead. As the goblin lost first her teapot and then her coin, Pinkerpie's verdant cheeks blushed. Innkeeper Hearthstove growled under his breath and started across the tavern. He was only halfway across when the goblin in the musician's song lost her clothes and was wandering naked. As the chorus started Pinkerpie laughed as she jumped up on the table and sang along in a surprisingly husky voice!

"Will someone please help me...

I've lost my coin, my clothes and teapot,

And now here I am naked and hungry.

Please, if only... you will give me a shot...

Yes my skin is green, my lips are plump,

My waist is slim, and my hips are as wide as my rump..."

The song went on describing her eyes all the way to her thighs, and as Pinkerpie sang she danced as she pointed to whatever she sang about. When it came back around to her rump she turned around and did a scandalous dance that twerked it very nicely as the room erupted in boots and cheers. Feeling upstaged the musicians played and sang louder which only encouraged Pinkerpie to sing and dance harder. Soon tankards and hands slapped tables while feet stomped in time with the music.

Innkeeper Hearthstove seemed apoplectic. He didn't know what to do. The song progressed and now the goblin girl was serenading a frog. Telling again about all of her assets while the frog decried her hindrances. The song ended on a high note with the goblin happily married as she carried her husband home in her brassiere. As the last dulcet notes ended Pinkerpie jumped down and into my lap and laid a fine kiss on my lips as cheers and hoots crescendoed until it felt like the floor was vibrating. Or, maybe it was my teeth!

When the innkeeper finally arrived he looked at us both with a mixture of uncertainty and outrage as he yelled over the sounds of laughter, excited talking, boot stomping, and a hundred other sounds commonly heard in a tavern. The musicians started another song, this one about a dwarf and a young maiden.

"I think ye both have caused enough ruckus tonight, with all of that... debauchery!" Hearthstove growled, "Have ye no class goblin? Do ye have no discretion human? I think it's high time ye both went to ye room!"

"I think it's high time you got over yourself," I growled, "How many years has Pinkerpie come to this village in nothing but peace? She was good enough of a person for you all to trade with, and yet, now that she is in need of your help and generosity all you can see is the color of her skin and the race of people she comes from? I tell you this, if there is shame to be felt, it is not by us!"

Hearthstove's face grew redder by the word, and by the end he was clenching his fists while his beard visibly quivered. He lurched forward as he snarled, "Then I think it is high time ye..."

He didn't finish. A strong square hand grabbed Hearthstove's shoulder. The innkeeper flinched away with a growl and a curse that died to a grumble when he saw Magistrate Bluntnose.

"What do ye want, Harn?" The Innkeeper growled.

"They will be eating with me tonight," The Magistrate said firmly.

"No, they will be leaving my establishment," The Innkeeper retorted.

"Why is that?" Harn asked, his tone filled with scorn, "They have done nothing wrong. They have broken no laws."

"This is my inn, Harn, and I didn't want them here to begin with!" The innkeeper spat, "I only took them in as a favor to you, and I told'em to stay in their room! They didn't, now they need to go!"

Harn Bluntnose nodded along as if every word the innkeeper said was perfectly reasonable, but when the innkeeper finished he replied in a cold firm voice, "This may be ye inn Hearthstove, but this is my town and what ye do reflects on us all. Look around..."

Hearthstove did as was told and for the first time saw that the tavern was very still. Even the musicians had stopped playing as everyone watched. By far the majority of the room was filled with dwarves, but around the edges and sprinkled through the crowd were humans, elves, and gnomes. All of them watching the drama unfolding in front of them.

"How long do ye think it will take before Thelsamar has a reputation for being inhospitable to anyone not dwarven?" Bluntnose asked, and paused only long enough for the question to sink in before answering it himself, "Sure a lot of the people in here are our neighbors, but how long do ye think they will keep coming here and paying ye exorbitant prices when the adventurers and traders quit coming to our little town and spending their gold? Not long I should think. So, Cronid Hearthstove, unless these two have broken the law or started a fight, for the sake of all of us that live in Thelsamar, ye are going to treat this man and goblin as ye would any other dwarf. Understood?"

"Understood," The innkeeper growled as he shrugged his shoulder out of Harn's grip.

"Good!" The Magistrate chortled as if everything was right in the world and nothing had happened just moments before, "Then please bring a flagon of mead to my table and plates of whatever is on the grill that smells so good!"

Cronid grumbled but grudgingly nodded and turned towards the kitchen. Harn Bluntnose then turned to me and gazed at Pinkerpie, who was still sitting astride my lap reprovingly. Shaking his head he said, "I think that is enough of that. Come on. Follow me."

Pinkerpie giggled as she slid off my lap before we followed Bluntnose up the stairs leading to the entrance of the inn. However, instead of turning left and leaving the inn, Bluntnose led us left and up another short climb of stairs to a private dining room. Already sitting around the table were some of the major craftsmen and trainers that were native to the dwarven people. They were for all intents and purposes the village council. Many of them were out of their seats at the moment and watching not just Pinkerpie and I ascend the stairs, but more importantly they were watching the tavern room. Specifically the human, elf, and gnome visitors as the jollity of the room picked up again and the musician went back to their music. Despite the atmosphere of the room several of the visiting races talked quietly amongst themselves. Despite the Magistrate's efforts there would be stories that traveled out with those visitors, and each council member could see their business drying up, and then their village, as a negative reputation spread across the Eastern Kingdoms.

"Not to worry. Not to worry. Kali. Belda. Brock." Harn purred encouragingly as he gave each a pat on the shoulder, "Thelsamar is a resilient little village. We have the advantage of being positioned on a well established trade route, and the last town with an inn until Kharanus and Ironforge in the west, and Menethil and Kirthhaven in the north west and north east, and leagues before Dun Modr or Dun Garek in the north. But, Cronid's prejudices needed to be addressed. It will be difficult dealing with him for a while, but it needed to be done where everyone will see that the behavior will no longer be tolerated."

"True," Kali said as she fell in behind Pinkerpie as we sat. As Kali sat next to me she continued, "I'm just not sure these two were the hill to make our stand on."

"They were the perfect hill to stand on," Baerla, a white robed priestess, countered, "We all know Pinkerpie. She is a goblin, and yet, decently honest even if a stalwart haggler. This once huge, mysterious world is quickly filling up and becoming small. Even the king of Stormwind and the leader of the Alliance has a tenuous peace with the Horde's Chieftain. If he can find merit in the honor of the orcs can we not aspire to see the good in this little goblin whom we already know?"

"Yes," Faldoc agreed with a nod, "A perfect hill. If we can be sociable to a goblin, then humans, elves, and gnomes should be easy by comparison."

"I still think this is a dangerous precedent to set and a slippery slope to encourage our people down," Gwak Gravelgut pronounced in a tone of finality, "Goblins by and large are as rapscallion as they come. They'd swindle their own mothers and sell their aged fathers to work in a mine for a profit. What kind of common ground can we find with people like that?"

"That's as may be," Grenhild Shalebuck retorted argumentatively while shaking her head, "No one is say'n that we should all take leave of our senses, or disregard common sense. What has happened, has happened. All that is being asked is for people to judge a person by what they do, not by what ye believe they will do or what ye may have heard they may have done. Pinkerpie Glimmergem, for example, has never done anything to me except make me pay a bit more for some herbs than I wanted to pay!"

"Enough of this!" Harn said boisterously as he motioned for everyone to sit, "Instead, I have a question for Hruthgar!"

Looking pointedly at me, his beard and mustaches twitched upward in a hidden smile as he continued, "What kind of man comes out of the Searing Gorge with not one, but three wives? One of which is a goblin?"

Pinkerpie laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. I chuckled too, but my scalp was crawling with anxiety. How could I give this group of men and women dwarf folk a satisfying answer without giving away that I had no claim to their protection as a human member of the Alliance?

----(!)----

By the time Pinkerpie and I returned to our room I felt like I had been rung out. Because my accent was not like anything heard in Azeroth I explained it away by saying my parents had been part of the Explorers Guild and that I was raised for the most part in southern Kalimdor. Then there was the general explanation of finding myself summoned to Blackrock Mountain and being held captive by my wife until I married Birdette. Finally, I told the story of accepting the mission to find Pinkerpie when her caravan didn't arrive on time, finding the bandits, killing them, and recovering not only Pinkerpie but also all the other women that had been held against their will and abused.