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

I have never seen centaurs in nearly three weeks of being in the Stonetalon Mountains.

It wasn't as surprising as it might sound. I wasn't looking for them, and this environment wasn't particularly suitable for the half-horses.

It was mountainous, so it meant relatively little flat, stable ground for them to move, hunt, and live. Many areas were simply inaccessible due to their cumbersome four-legged lower halves. They weren't goats.

And they were always on the move, with only stops to sleep, eat, pillage, fuck, and give birth. The latter wasn't even an inconvenience. I was told they were like horses—born and able to run and jump an hour later. They supposedly reached maturity fast, too.

Their population here was a fraction of what it was down South, where they outnumbered taurens, harpies, and quillboars combined.

They likely were the most numerous on the continent. The centaurs were a plague from what I was told, and what I could deduce led to a similar conclusion.

All of this made them surprisingly uncommon sightings here.

Yet taurens still couldn't avoid them due to the kodos. It couldn't be avoided.

The beasts of burden were pivotal in their lives, serving as a workforce and sources of leather, meat, eggs, and milk—yes, milk, they were like platypuses. Otherwise, I wouldn't touch their various dairy products.

But they weren't all terrains. Specific routes must be taken, routes the centaurs knew and needed to take.

It was only a matter of time before I had my first face-to-face encounter with them.

I didn't have problems being fully operational after awakening, but stopping my sleep didn't exactly fill me with joy. And that was what the centaurs did.

'Of course, the fuckers aim for the eyes!' I internally grumbled, putting a paw before my face. I became a target when I went to help the Grimtotem, who were holding the defensive lines.

By the Bear Lords, the half-horses aimed well. They weren't as skilled as the average rangers of the Sentinel Army, but they were close, especially with their short bows at these ranges.

It was terrifying, given the discrepancy in lifespan and experience between your average sentinel and centaur.

'It gives me a chance to test this though.' I thought with a grin.

Pain flashed briefly as two bone protuberances pierced the skin between my eyes with minimal bleeding–I knew where the blood vessels were–and formed root-like interconnected structures in front of them. I used part of my backpack for added protection.

It wouldn't stop everything, but for this scenario, it was ideal. The centaurs' rain of shots was deceptively precise and packed a punch, but ultimately, they weren't powerful enough to go through my bones. Still, eyes were the windows to the brain.

If they had been poisoned, that might have been a problem, but they weren't, aside from the bacteria on them. However, that wasn't a ground for concern.

'That's better.'

And to prove me right after, an arrow bounced off my bone and bark protection, and I internally nodded to myself in satisfaction.

But then, to prove me wrong, a fucking arrow landed on my central paw pad, and a growl of frustration left my throat. Then another shitty arrow hit under my right armpit and a third between my left knee.

It worked, but I remained a giant target–lightly armorer or not–with glowing markings and weak points. Yet, I could work with that. And I did, extending a glowing green and red paw to a nearby tauren; a similar glow flashed over him, the remnants flickering to the ones close by.

The light scratches all over his form vanished, and the deep cut on his shoulder blade stopped bleeding and receded to a flesh wound. It did the same to the others to a lesser extent.

It was superficial healing and needed more work to satisfy me.

But from the grateful nods I received and his headlong charge with a bellow, mace raised high, and shield oriented to protect his eyes. My subpar healing didn't seem to matter to him. He went straight back into the woodchipper like the dumb brute he was.

This was a constant in video games or real life, and I could merely glare and hold insults and sharp critics back in. Fear vanished with a healer behind, for the better or the worse.

Regardless, this bull was far from my last patient as I got into a rhythm between healing, scaring centaurs away, and killing the stupid one that got too close by claws or via seeds I threw.

Or I tried to, not that I was failing. But there was too much happening at once. It wasn't the smell that overwhelmed me per se, even if it played a role. It was the noise and the chaos I saw from my eyes protection.

It was nearly two hundred fighting with a third of the taurens and the other centaurs. I was the only combat healer. It was a scuffle in the grand scheme of things, but it was the first of such for me.

There were a lot of factors to consider: too much information, a lack of control, and little progress. The midday heat added salt to the injury since I had exhausted my reserve for elixirs to ward off that annoyance.

It was frustrating.

I felt heat in my belly growing, and my vision was quickly literally veering red. I wanted to let go and rush, to rip centaurs apart with my paws, ground their bones with my teeth, and cut open their entrails with my claws.

An arrow lodging itself in my sensitive nose through the bark plating was the last straw. I snapped, and instincts took over.

And my fury led me to the closest centaur. The bitch that sniped my poor nose, and I bit her head thoroughly, delighting at her terror–unreasonably short as it may have been–but I didn't go any farther.

Not because I wanted to or restrained myself. A burning orange ball of fire blinded me. I violently recoiled, spitting the crushed head with a loud, surprised bellow.

But I wasn't burned. The fireball that would have engulfed my face had stopped midway, barely burning my fur. An unpleasant heat radiated from it as it tauntingly stood there, defying physics.

My 'savior' didn't wait to make herself known.

"Hn, a greenhorn in the matter of warfare. I shouldn't be surprised." Magatha said in a self-satisfied tone as if she won something in her imaginary contest, but she got the point and saved me from healing burn wounds, external and internal—a pain to do.

The old cow added, looking up, "Focus on what can be focused, lest you be overwhelmed. Even if you are… interestingly warded, and I'm unsure any centaurs can even seriously wound you."

"Duly noted," I said drily, plucking the arrow from my nose and the umpteenth more from myself. Like all others, it barely got beyond the first layer of fat below my skin. I swore regardless, "Fucking arrows only purpose to be a pain in the ass."

The Elder Crone mumbled a few words in Ignan, the fire language, and she flung the fireball to its sender–a panicking firecaller, a type of proto-shaman–with multiple times the firepower.

The result was a screeching centauress with a melting face and clothes. Her hair and fur burned all over for the second it lasted until she stumbled and fell heaving on the ground.

The old tauren walked away like nothing, and every totem around glowed; arrows aimed at her sharply changed direction while losing all kinetic energy, falling harmlessly to the ground as if a gentle tap pushed them aside.

It wasn't a metaphor, and it wasn't unique to her as I wasn't getting pincushioned anymore, as was everyone else.

'That's what the shamans were doing.' I realized in honest awe. It was impressive. I could feel the wind elementals zipping around, several dozen of them.

The entire battlefield was flipped on itself. The centaurs within the Grimtotem rank couldn't weave around using their ranged support anymore. They were too far deep, and as for the archers, their confusion was enough to get the taurens to rush at them successfully.

It was an absolute massacre from then on. The magic casters were powerless and subsequently eviscerated, too. And the only casualties of the Grimtotem tribe end numbered a measly seven.

Even with me healing around, it was exceptional. And I wasn't the only healer, even if Magatha and her shamans were not in the same realm.

Druidic healing was plain superior for us. It was wired for organic life, after all. Life magic amplified that trait even further.

Water spirits could seal superficial wounds, cleanse them, and invigorate the injured, but that stopped there without alchemy and traditional primitive medicine.

A cut-off limb couldn't be reattached, at least from what I had seen and read, and it was plenty enough to affirm it was a no.

It was a reminder this place didn't work like the games, though how Holy Light and Shadow magic worked for healing that was to see, I won't bet on them being weak.

Understanding how these two healed would be fascinating… if purely out of curiosity.

After that was the cleaning and scouring of any valuables, which I didn't participate in, and neither did Magatha, and it was from the sidelines I announced my time here was up.

"I'm flying back to Ashenvale. I will be gone when the moons are on the horizon."

There was a pause before she mumbled for me to wait and walked to her teepee, coming back thirty seconds later with a miniature version of the classical Grimtotem totem design.

"Here, a present to guide you to me through the song of birds. When we are close, the spirits will whistle." I nodded, and she said, "Good. Then, this is an early farewell, Ohto of the Greenweald. But the Grimtotem never forgets enmity… and it differs not for generosity. You and your kin have our hospitality. I hope you meditate on what has been spoken."

Those were essentially the last words we exchanged. Hours later, I was flying above a precipice with a heavier backpack I originally came within my jaw.

'That was a worthwhile trip.' That was my conclusion; it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but that was one of the best outcomes I could get. I had fun, too, in more than one way. Indeed, these taurens weren't the friendliest–euphemism of the century–but it wasn't unworkable.

They were people, not unchanging ruthless monsters. They had found brutality their best chance at survival, a theory that proved itself repeatedly to be correct.

It wasn't an excuse; they were assholes of the highest order, and many aspects needed changes if they wanted a lasting alliance with furbolgs or anyone. But it was at least worth a shot, and any help was appreciated for what was to come.

Be that as it may, my progress stood out for me. It wasn't mind-boggling as more would be needed, but the virtually unlimited supply of guinea pigs accelerated things by a lot.

Among other new skills, I could reattach a head to its corpse–not even an obligation–now and have the result be somewhat alive! If everything was fresh enough, but that remained awesome. And it wasn't as situational as it sounded. It wasn't just gluing the parts together that was important.

Thoughts went after one another as hours flew by until the sun rose on the horizon, and that led to me slipping into the Emerald Dream after finding a good place to sleep.

But as soon as I stepped in, I froze. My eyes widened upon landing on the figure sitting in front of me. His massive blue-furred forepaws supported his equally enormous head. His gaze was as intense as ever.

"H-Hi, Ursol!" I fumbled out at his unexpected appearance, and like the first time, he chuckled warmly. Then, without my request, he grew an all-encompassing sphere around us, cutting the world from us.

"Hi," The demi-god parroted with a smile, waving a paw, clearly amused at my reaction, "Greetings once again, Ohto. I have come to offer my gratitude for your vision. It had proved itself to be dreadfully true. Your warning stopped my brother and the lives of thousands upon thousands from threading a fate of damnation."

I felt my heart swell, and I brightened at his words, both from instincts and because Ursol the Wise said it. I wasn't religious, but my body remained of his descent. All the doubts and paranoia that had grown from his silence proved unnecessary.

It couldn't be easily described how it felt beyond amazing.

"Dreadful indeed! My impatience to be of the living once more was deeply foolish!" A booming voice exploded from my right, and Ursol's and my head snapped to the new arrival.

Our reaction was similar, if different, in many respects. I was shocked, while the Bear of Wisdom was a mix of surprised, angry, exasperated, and worried.

I knew this face well. I couldn't ponder on it for long, however. The bonafide Bear of Might, Ursoc, twin brother of Ursol, was in front of me, having slipped in and whose eyes turned to me with a strange expression.

He was significantly larger in size and musculature than his brother and had rich brown fur with intricate braids in his 'mane.' Otherwise, he was a perfect copy of Ursol, sharing similar armor and tattoos. He was far more translucent… and weaker, even if the word 'recovering' fits better.

It felt wrong to a part of me to see him like this, but I was in awe regardless. If one wasn't enough, then two was borderline too much.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and my gaze could not move away from him as he looked down from his superior height, a smile forming on his snout.

"As my little brother said, the tragedy was averted thanks to you. Without your intervention, I would've been dead or worse, as would many innocents ignorant of the danger in the hearth of their den. My arrogance nearly once more would have been my downfall." The Bear of Might let out in shame.

"For what you have done, accept this present. It's not much, but it's better than empty excuses." I was stunned and just leaned in as the Bear Ancient put a claw on my forehead. I accepted I could resist, easily, might I add, but I didn't. I absorbed it.

The effect was immediate; I began to shift, just as I did when I became a bat, but here, it felt no significantly different than my furbolg body.

Yes, I was on all fours from a slightly different morphology and felt slightly bigger. In exchange, I lacked thumbs and felt two of my upper canines poke out of my mouth. Otherwise, I didn't feel THAT different.

I was a bear, but instead of a bipedal one, I was a miniature version of the two in front of me.

Then it hit me… Did Ursoc himself bless me?! That… I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do, period.

"Ah…" However, all that left me was, "I can speak?"

It wasn't possible with bear shapeshifting, Ursine or not, even if some words and broken sentences could be said. It wasn't impossible either, but it was a rare skill; fewer druids than I had fingers on one paw had it if the elven records at my disposal were correct.

It was mastering an aspect of shapeshifting–to shift your mouth parts to speak–and it was given to me on a silver platter. I had been slowly figuring that out, and I was happy with the gifted understanding.

Well, it was only for my newly gained bear form, but that was a massive hint for others and shapeshifting as a whole.

"This is my true blessing, young warrior shaman. In any form, you may now wield speech if you delve into it. It is a small present, but I'm... limited. For now." He confirmed what I got, and then the Bear of Might turned around, focusing on his twin, "As always, little brother, you are bad at hiding your tracks. Oh… I will rest now and want to drink with you two afterward. It's an event worthy of such treatment! I cannot wait, yet I must! Farewell!"

And he left… like that, he just phased through the shield.

A long second passed until my mind clicked.

"Shit! Wai-" Ursol interrupted me, "Fret not, Ohto, I will inform my brother of your wish of discretion. But I cannot promise his agreement without reason. What is it you fear?"

I frowned; it was to be expected.

As to what I fear, there were too many to list here. Or that needed to be listed… Old Gods, notably, the risk of suspicion was too great. A bit of the result, yes, but the eldritch abominations themselves, no. It was too risky beyond that, and I lacked knowledge of them.

Ultimately, the choice was straightforward, if controversial, depending on his relationship with them. It was a risk, but I needed to take it.

"Ursol, the Dragons of Bronze…" While studying his reaction, I began as he stood there. Unflappable but interested.

"As you know, I have knowledge, but it's knowledge I do not entirely believe… it's vague, contradictory, incomplete, and fragmented. It's a puzzle, but from its pieces, I understand the change I bring may lead to a strong reaction from them. I fear I may be a target in their eyes, an anomaly to be culled from time. Yet it may also be useless; my fear may be unfounded. I don't know and understand enough to be certain. This is why… I wish to remain unknown until I feasibly can't anymore. I understand it won't be hard to single me out as the source; I stand out, but regardless, it's why I want discretion." I explained.

There was an oppressive silence after I finished my tedious answer. Anticipation at how the bear demi-god might react in all the wrong ways welled in my heart.

Fundamentally, what I said was the truth and a de facto excuse for many of my 'quirks,' but despite logic, I was afraid. Emotions weren't rational, weren't pragmatic, and were both a blessing and a curse.

"What a dire curse to bear for one so young… I see. I understand now, but you have been wise to call upon me, Ohto. To the matter of your fear… I will strive to protect you if the need arises, as will Ursoc. Dragons are mysterious creatures, and possessing a modicum of caution is natural in their presence." The Wise Bear expressed in a shockingly saddened and compassionate tone.

I felt like an immense weight was lifted off my shoulders. I felt good beyond incredible even. It was almost a euphoric sensation. But the hard part came next.

"Thank you, Ursol. I suppose gratitude is not the only reason you came here."

The Bear Lord's eyes locked onto my own at that.

"The Burning Legion, monsters of baleful green fire, despoilers of the wilds, abominations of Fel, young one. In our past interactions, you have passingly mentioned them." He growled the name out like it was trash sullying his mouth.

It was guttural and primal in how he pronounced it, "Until now, I was too occupied to converse. My apologies for such, but that time had ended. What have you seen?"

To the point then, and I couldn't be happier to oblige. It seemed that there was no need to point to the urgency of the matter.

"Yes-." And so I told what was to come, well, what I was almost certain would.

There always was this possibility it could differ–j'ai pas la science infuse–I'm not all-knowing. A lot of the knowledge I had was from osmosis and not memorized by heart or plainly distorted; it might as well be false—my notebook or not.

I couldn't speak of everything, and I was too uncertain to say anything that wasn't a general idea that was a certainty to happen with sufficiently predictable results. I didn't like it, but that's how I would proceed.

*

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