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There is a lovely mesa that rises from the green hills of Mulgore. The hills surrounding it are green and verdant, undulating gently into the distance. They are full of life, and well tended. Not too many fires scorch the earth, nor is the game overhunted. The grass is tall and thick, and the wandering wind blows it in waves.

From the top of the mesa, if there is no mist, one can behold one of the fairest views of all Kalimdor. To the north lies Thunder Bluff, the capitol city of the Tauren people. Its many rises and lifts and fantastic multi-colored tribal imagery stretched across great structures are a testament to strength and tradition. The city is a bustle of activity, traders hurrying to and fro, artisans and craftspeople hard at work, pennants flapping brightly in the wind. It is a grand sight. To the east stretches a great sun-warmed expanse of the green hills of Mulgore. Wells and villages dot the gently rolling landscape, interrupted only by streams and the distant peaks of barrier mountains. Trees grow tall and dark and offer shade to the weary. The west side of the mesa is part of the surrounding mountains. They stand tall, like rocky spears thrust upwards protectively, and they offer the mesa shelter from the worst of storms. To the south lies a great ridge, beyond which the southern braves fight to hold back the encroaching thorns of the Quillboar. Two lifts have serviced the mesa since ancient times, making use of a system of counterweights and perhaps a touch of magic. The eastern lift is kept in good shape by the tribe, while the northern has fallen into disuse. The mesa itself is a broad plateau. It is perfectly sculpted, as if by some divine hand, to revere the passage of the sun.

Upon this mesa lives a tribe of the Shu'halo, the Tauren. They strive for balance with the land, enjoying the fruits of their labor, while nourishing the land for those who will follow.. They are a proud race, strong in tradition and earthy wisdom. They live simply, and are content with what they can supply themselves with. They are governed by a circle of elders, among which is the wise elder shaman Olum. They look to the Earth Mother for guidance, and care for the land they know are inextricably linked to. They keep it, guard it, care for it, for it keeps them, guards them, and cares for them.

It is morning. As the first rays of the sun touch the lip of the mesa, the tribe comes to life. Tents both small and large dot the mesa. The people of the tribe emerge, stretching, to welcome the sun. They revel in the bright promise of a new day. As they move about their daily business, the mesa stirs with activity. Women descend to draw water for drinking and cooking and pottery. Men set off for hunts. Others work at crafts, fashioning tents or salves or tapestries or armor. Children run and play, shriek and stumble. They are watched over by the knowing eyes of their parents, for they, too, were once children. They smile tenderly, for who can look at the joy of a child and not be lifted?

**********

Off to the west, apart from the bustle, lies a solitary tent, decorated with tribal symbols representing the elements. Depicted on the tent is what at first glance appears to be a maelstrom of color and motion. Upon closer inspection, the pattern reveals itself to be an image of the dance of elemental balance as old as time, captured by the stitches in the cloth.

Olum the elder shaman rests in front of his tent, having just finished his morning exercises. He is old. He has seen summers come and go, chased by winters, only to yield to summers once again. He has seen the sunrise fill the mesa, and the sunset streak vivid colors across it. He has seen foolishness and selflessness, anger and love. He has debated which creaks more in the morning, the mesa as it warms in the sun, or his joints as they object. He pretends not to know the answer. He is bent with age, and the wisdom that comes with it, but he does not lack strength. Slightly crooked horns, one of which is broken off, frame a weathered face, impassive as the cliff behind, and just as resolute. His heart, though, remains compassionate, only augmented by his wisdom.In front of the elder lies a simple pool. The clear surface shimmers, but it is far more than just a place where water collects. Called up from the depths of the earth, tempered by wind and warmed by fire, this pool is much more. It is a place of balance. It is a place of reflection. In it Olum can see more than he can with just his eyes. Changes in the pool represent forces acting unbalanced. An approaching storm or disturbance manifests itself in a movement of the water. Oftentimes members of the tribe come to the elder for advice. A ripple or eddy from their direction can point to a hidden ambition or a hidden hurt. The tribespeople wonder at his wisdom, for they look at the water and see only wetness. Olum sees much more. For now, the pool is clear, save for some small motion to the south.

His abode lies near the very western edge of the mesa. He has been asked,

"Elder, the cliff is steep. Will you not fall?" He simply replies, "The Earth Mother is at my back. How can I fall?"He is the elder shaman, and he guides the council.

**********

As the mesa bustles with life, one young Tauren stands out. She stands tall, and short black fur covers her body, save for splashes of white on her cheeks and along her slender limbs, with a creamy white color covering her belly. She bears the standard musculature of her race, but the lines of her curvaceous form leave no doubt as to her femininity. Deep, warm brown eyes look out from soft face that lights up completely when she smiles. Perky ears are framed by delicately formed horns that, while mostly ornamental, remain sharp. Long raven-colored hair cascades down her back. She trains to be a druid, and can often be seen among the woods at the foot of the mesa. The light robe she wears as an acolyte does little to hide her trim figure and well-toned body. She has chosen to be a healer, a profession that well suits her immense compassion. There is almost a tangible glow about her, of youth and life.

The males of the tribe recognize the beauty among them, and vie for her attention. Her obvious charms are made all the sweeter by the modesty carried with them, and the intelligence glittering behind those milk chocolate eyes. While she flirts gently, Maranai, for that is her name, just as gently turns them away. Despite the occasional dalliances in the grasslands, none of the eager young suitors really catch her eye. None, save one.

**********

It was laundry day. Marani gathered up her linens and things and trudged down to the stream flowing past the mesa. It was a beautiful day, and the rising sun painted the face of the mesa brilliant shades of red and gold. The sunshine glinted off the stream as it burbled quietly to itself. Marani squinted at the sun to gauge the passing of the day. Retreating to a small wooded copse some distance from the mesa, she decided that it was a great day for a dip. Removing her robe, she hung it on a nearby tree branch. Clad only in her underclothes, she took a quick peek around before stripping down completely to reveal sleek flanks and a hefty bust. Her large globes hung free in the crisp morning air. Despite their generous size, they stood proudly high on her chest and drooped not a bit.

Marani sighed as she slipped into the stream. The cool water felt wonderful on her skin, and it was so easy to forget oneself in the simple joy of splishing and splashing. She even managed to wash her clothes amidst the fun.

Maranai glanced up at the sun and realized with a start it had risen much higher than when she first entered the stream. Alarmed, she hurried out of the water and dried herself. Not a moment too soon, for as she donned her robe again, a distant line of figures appeared around the corner of the mesa.

As Marani set out the rest of her clothes to dry, the figures resolved themselves into the returning hunting party, laden with the spoils of conquest.

**********

The hunting party are a raucous bunch, always carousing and roughhousing, but when things get serious, they get the job done. They stand tall, proud to be of their tribe.

Their leader is a grizzled veteran, a warrior who long ago traded in his two-handed facesmasher for a shield and axe. The oaken bulwark he hefts is further augmented by metal plates, with the tribe's symbols inscribed. It must have been ponderously heavy, yet he bears it with ease. Many had seen the reserved stance, the salt-and-pepper beard, and underestimated the power behind the knotted muscles. It was often the last mistake they made.

His lieutenant is a broad-shouldered Sunwalker, a Tauren paladin. He is a good sort of fellow, always cracking jokes, but his trusty hammer is never far from his reach. Possessed of a level head, he carefully surveys any situation, but once engaged fights fearlessly. He is always the first in a fight, and often the last one standing. He is partnered for life with a hunter. The hunter is lean and wiry. He lacks his partner's brute strength, but his muscles are as taut as whipcord. He always manages to find his way out of a situation, whether through his repertoire of traps or through sheer acrobatics. He is known for his ability to defuse a situation before it becomes a problem, and is equally inseparable from both his companion hunting cat and his partner the paladin. Together, they make an unstoppable fighting team. The paladin charges into the teeth of a battle, while the hunter picks off enemies from a distance. They trust one another completely, each knowing the other has his back.

An unusual addition rounds out the team. Alongside the men of the tribes walks a female rogue. Of the Grimtotem tribe, her fur is as dark as night. Members of the outcast tribe are habitually distrusted, and on top of that, many of the Tauren find it hard to respect one who strikes from the shadows. Yet she has proven her worth in combat many times over, striking down enemies about to rain pain on her fellow fighters. Curiously, despite the stereotype of rogues as malicious dealers of cruel deaths, this rogue simply disables or disarms the enemy and refrains from unnecessarily maiming them. She does her best to grant those who deserve it a quick end. This unexpected sense of honor, combined with her dry wit, has won over the party, despite her disturbing tendency to suddenly vanish from sight.

The group was accompanied by the usual assortment of eager young braves seeking to prove themselves. They stumbled along, all muscle and steam, in search of glory and recognition. Seeking something to strive against, something in which to put something of themselves, and from it, take something greater. Full of the exuberance of youth, they shared jokes and guffaws, ribbing one another about the size of a recent kill or the beauty of a recent conquest, rubbing elbows and jostling each other good-naturedly. They ooh'd and ahh'd over the flashy armor and battle scars of the more experienced fighters, and listened amazed to grand tales told by the fireside. The veterans cast upon them guarded looks, for they know just how untested these youths are. They smile, though, for such enthusiasm for life is contagious.

**********

One among these warriors stands out. His name is Darom. Darom is a strapping young brave of the tribe, the epitome of the Tauren warrior. Strong as an ox, and just as stubborn. Short fur of deep mahogany covers his toned body. Rippling muscles fill out his well-built frame, sliding and shifting as he moves. Clear hazel eyes look out from underneath heavy brows supported by a strong jaw. A somewhat shaggy mane of dark hair flops down his well-muscled back. His horns thrust upward like a challenge, and a short beard, kept well-trimmed, juts out from his chin. In battle, Darom is the eye of the storm. As the conflict swirls about, he remains a rock of calm. More than once he has stepped in to relieve a hard-pressed ally or defeat a deadly attack. Nor does he brag or boast to inflation. The aura of calm confidence he exudes hints at hidden depths.

Taken as a whole, the young warrior can be very intimidating. And yet, there is a gentleness about him. Though his gaze can be sharp and piercing, it can also soft and considerate. When he looks upon the children of the tribe running about, or upon the beauty of a sunset, his face softens, the hard lines relax, and it becomes clear there is more than hunting and fighting in this warrior. There is also compassion.

**********

As the hunting party came around the bend, some force or intuition caused Darom to glance at the very copse where Maranai watched. He could just make out her shapely figure, and recognized her by the lustrous hair falling around her shoulders. He recalled her from the mesa, recalled equally her modest, yet gentle aloofness, and recalled even more vividly the few times when their eyes met, having been completely drawn in by a glimpse of gentle true spirit.

A second later, he processed that her hair still glistened with moisture. An image leapt unbidden into his mind of Maranai frolicking about nude in the waters of the stream, large breasts bouncing about and slick hair flowing wildly. He shook his head to clear it. Surely not, he said to himself. She was simply washing her laundry or something. Despite himself, he felt a warm stirring at the not unwelcome sight of the beautiful young woman.

Maranai watched the party return with a hint of trepidation. Hunting forays were often risky, yet the group usually returned in good shape. Maranai looked over the warriors with worry, noting with relief that they all seemed hale and hearty. She found herself leaning forward, though, in an attempt to see one familiar shaggy mane. An unexpected spurt of joy accompanied Maranai as she caught sight of the young warrior, and she felt her breath catch in her chest when she saw that he was looking in her direction. Did he see her? If he did, what was he thinking? Did he see her seeing him? Shivering a little from her dip, she realized she wanted his strong arms around her. He was quite attractive, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the young women of the tribe, and he didn't seem to realize his reserve and calm, instead of the brash boasting of many other young males, only endeared him further. Rumor also had it around the mesa that he was quite well equipped, even for a Tauren.

As the hunting party moved on, Darom realized he was staring. He dropped his gaze and continued toward the mesa, not wanting to alert the other warriors to Maranai's presence and invite teasing. But the image of the young woman frolicking in the stream would not go away. The hunter in him had noted her shiver and her vulnerability, and the man in him wanted to warm her and protect her.

Finally the hunting party reached the western lift, and began hauling up their loot. Back on the mesa, the whole tribe helped to make the best use of what they had. Meat was cleaned and set out to smoke, or spitted for roasting. Skins were scraped and stretched out to dry. Wounds were tended and the foot-sore offered a chance to rest. The hunting party had fared very well, bringing in enough food for several days, supplemented with what the tribe grew on the nearby lands.

Amid the hustle of the return, Darom found himself in a clear spot and sat down on a nearby rock with a sigh. He quickly found himself surrounded by younglings and pressed for tales of his "great adventure". A smile spread across his face. He loved to tell stories, and was an excellent weaver of yarns despite his claims to the contrary. He settled himself and began to regale the youngsters with the tale of the hunt. He soon attracted a small crowd, drawn by his deep voice and expansive gestures. They gasped as the mountain lion pounced, and held their breath when the Kodo bull charged. They cheered when the brave warriors beat each back and emerged victorious. One bright-eyed young warrior-to-be asked voraciously,

"Did you beat them really bad?"

Darom chuckled and responded into the waiting silence,

"Yes, yes we did."

He smiled, knowing that by the time the tale was retold around the fire, the lion would become five and the Kodo an entire herd. He had them deep in the thrill of the hunt when he looked up and saw Maranai leaning casually against a nearby tent pole, watching him intently.

Their eyes met and Darom felt an electric shock pass through him. Quickly, he brought the tale to a close and stood up, eliciting a few "Awwwh!" noises from the children at the sudden end of their adventure. He searched for Maranai, but could not find her.

**********

As Darom shooed the children back to their mothers, he noticed one little boy passing near a cart stacked precariously high with skins and other spoils. As he watched, the owner of the cart heaved another skin onto the pile already dangerously high, and the cart teetered. Sensing the danger, Darom leapt into action. In one swift motion he scooped the youngling up in his burly arm and dodged aside just as the cart came crashing down with a tumult.

In the shocked silence that followed, Darom looked at the wriggling bundle in his arms. It was the same young future warrior who had blurted the question in his story. He set the tot down and guided him into the arms of his anxious mother, who had come rushing up. She hugged her child close, despite the protesting youngling's claims of warriorhood, and glowered at the cart owner, who shook himself out of the shock of near occurrence, apologized profusely, and began cleaning up the mess.

Crisis averted, Darom heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to find himself face to face with the lovely brown eyes of Maranai.

"That was a brave thing you did there, warrior."

Startled, Darom tried to explain himself.

"Oh! I..I just did the right thing to do, what anyone would've done, really."

She smiled at him, just smiled, and he thought his heart would beat out of his ribs. She hooked a finger in his breastplate, pulled him close, leaned in. Her warm breath tickled his ear.

"The tribe could use more men who do what is right. Men like you."

With that, she turned and sauntered away.

Darom was left puzzled and a bit bewildered by the sudden interest of the beautiful Maranai. He sighed and muttered to himself resignedly.

"Women."

Darom shook his head and decided to look for her. He found himself drawn in by the mysterious depths that lurked in those eyes. He set off among the maze of tents in the direction he had last seen her. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw long dark hair, and hurried after it. He caught fleeting glimpses of a tailtuft disappearing behind a tent, of delicate horns bobbing in time with steps, of well-rounded thighs vanishing around a corner as he dodged and darted around tents and tradesmen. He had to admit, she did have a very nice backside. Finally he reached the tent that he thought she had disappeared into. Panting a bit from the chase, he took a second to control his breathing and opened the tent flap carefully, as not to startle her.

**********

Darom stood there, stunned, as he took in the sight before him. Apparently, some of the hunting braves had found favor with a local woman of the tribe. A chocolate brown young Tauren woman, very clearly not the lady Darom was looking for, and two braves filled the small tent. None of them had a stitch on, and all of them were oblivious to Darom's presence. The very curvy young girl was on her back, stretched out on the table before him. One muscular young brave was kneeling before the table, slurping noisily between her large thighs, while at the other end the female was busily trying to stuff another warrior's manhood as far down her throat as she could. As Darom watched, she wrapped both hands around her beau's mighty shaft and opened her maw wide. The warrior took the hint and rocked his hips forward. He leaned his head back in ecstasy as his length slid deep. The woman's eyes bulged as she realized just how big her partner was, but she swallowed until finally his furry orbs bounced gently against her nose. He slowly withdrew, enjoying the suction, and positioned himself just inside her mouth. The hunk between her legs gave one last long slow lick from bottom to top that sent shivers down her spine, then stood up and rubbed the tip of his own shaft up and down her wet slit. The two males' eyes met, and at some unspoken signal they both suddenly thrust forward. The Taureness let out a muffled squeak as her two men filled her. After savoring the feeling for a few seconds, they began to hammer her. As one warrior plunged in, the other slid out. The rhythmic thrusting soon had all of them panting, and the nubile nymph in the middle had to grip the edges of the table to keep from sliding off as they mercilessly pounded her body. If her moans and gasps were any indication, however, she was quite thoroughly enjoying it. Darom wondered idly if the two males ever met in the middle, when heightened groans caught his attention. By now, sweat had started to form on both the foreheads of the males as they kept up the pace. Suddenly, the pace increased, with shorter thrusts and greater frequency. The woman's nails dug into the table as she held on for dear life. The little show was rushing toward an explosive climax. The slaps as balls met body fought with groans and moans to fill the tent. As the activity reached a frenzy, the male with his manhood deep in a warm throat reached down to tweak a nipple, and it sent the woman over the edge. She screamed around the shaft in her mouth and writhed in pleasure as she reached her pinnacle. Her tongue worked overtime against the underside of the meat in her maw, and she ground heavily against the firm hips thrusting into her. This proved too much for the two males, who rocked back, and then rammed in deep one last time as they, too, lost the world in an explosion of ecstasy. Thick, ropy strands filled the warm vessel happily helpless before them. The whole pile collapsed in mindless fulfillment.

Seconds ticked by before they realized Darom was still there, weirdly mesmerized by the scene playing out before him. They froze, wide-eyed, as Darom blushed, coughed awkwardly, and muttered something about a wrong tent before hastily making his exit.

Darom blinked a few times as he stepped back into the sunlight. He was still a bit taken aback by accidental encounter. Musing, he entertained a brief snippet of thought.

What if it had been Maranai on that table....?

He savagely cut off that train of thought with an act of will, but the uncomfortable bulge in his breeches reminded him just how arousing the scene had been.

**********

Olum the elder sat in front of his pool, and watched the day go by. The pool lay clear and clean. He stared into its depths as if expecting something to rise out of the water. As he watched, a ripple appeared from the north. It was soft-edged, and travelled at a moderate pace as it flowed across the pool. When it hit the other side, it rebounded and changed. It became larger, stronger, more powerful. Harder somehow. At the same time, another ripple, similar to the first, came from where the first has originated. The two ripples grew as they headed toward each other, and formed semicircular waves of water rushing to a collision in the exact center of the pool.

They met, and water sprayed upwards in sheer joy. Yet most of the force of each wave continued on unabated. They flowed on until the intersection of their edges formed a perfect circle, and there they stayed. Inside the circle the water lay still, but Olum felt an inexplicable tension.

And then the circle exploded. Water flew everywhere, splashing violently. The waves devolved into a whirlpool of emotion in motion. In it Olum read piercing joy, anger, hope, despair, anguish. The water raged and frothed urgently, and Olum could only watch as the storm wore itself out.

Finally, the pool quieted, and only the two original waves remained. The stronger, harder wave seemed to sink into the center, while the softer one gently pulsed outward toward the rim. As they reached their destinations, a single drop of water leapt out of the center. It hung in the air for an infinitesimal second, shimmering with power, then splished back down without a ripple into the water, now still once more.

Olum sat and pondered what he had seen. He knew what he had witnessed was to be of great import, yet the meaning of it hung tantalizingly out of his grasp. There would be conflict, to be certain, and the puddles around the pool gave testament to the fact that it would affect all of them. But what of the single droplet? What did it mean? The elder shaman could only speculate.

**********

Lost in meditation, Olum did not notice the warning ripple that came from the east, and was jolted out of his reverie by the soft sound of footfalls. He glanced at the telltale ripple, and knew his visitor to be Maranai. He looked up and saw the beautiful Tauren approaching, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Welcome." he said. "Please, be seated."

Maranai gracefully folded her legs beneath her and sat across the pool from Olum.

"Now, what can old Olum do for you?"

The ripple of her presence had given him an inkling, but he wanted to hear it from her personally.

Maranai took a deep breath, and Olum saw a quiver in the water. Then the young woman poured forth her emotions in a torrent of worry, affection, fear, love, and hope as she recounted everything she had felt. The pool seemed to stir with the druid's tale, rising and falling. Olum was watching the pool, but as the cascade of words flowed past he caught "strong", "brave", "gentle", "worry", and "love". He was puzzled until the wind whispered in his ear: Darom.

_ _Ah, the elder said to himself, and nodded wisely. After all, the glances the two shared had not gone unnoticed.

Finally Maranai had poured herself out and sat, drained. Olum laid a comforting hand on her arm, and said more with one compassionate look than he could have said with mere words. Maranai relaxed a bit and even smiled shyly. Olum smiled back, and gestured to the pool. It still swirled with her emotional turmoil, but as they watched it coalesced into the symbol of the tribe. Maranai felt a wave of calm wash over her, and sat a little straighter. Olum took the symbol as a good omen.

Ever curious, Maranai had a question for the shaman.

"Elder Olum?"

"Yes, my daughter?"

"Elder, how can the pool tell you so much? I see only water."

Olum chuckled. "Let me show you."

He spat into his hand, muttered, and waved it over her eyes.

Maranai gasped. The elements danced before her, revealed. Everywhere they danced, from the depths of the pool to the surface to the tent behind it. Water elementals frolicked in their natural place. Earth elementals shifted and rumbled from below. Fire cavorted in the sunlight, and over all whirled the wind. It was beautiful. Joy sparkled in Maranai's eyes and Olum smiled, for who can look at the joy one has brought, and not smile?

Olum sat back. Sometimes all one needs to do is listen.

An idea occurred to him.

"Maranai." he said. She looked up.

"I'm fresh out of bruiseweed and fadeleaf. Could I persuade you to pick me some in the forest tomorrow?"

The elder knew the young druid loved to spend time amidst the trees. Maranai nodded eagerly.

She rose. "Of course, Elder. Anything else?"

"Oh, and take that Darom fellow with you."

Maranai grinned and ran off to find him. Olum did not miss the extra spring in her step.

**********

End of Chapter One