A Fire to Remember?Follow

Never really came up with a title to this, just something inspired by some speculation in some posts here since WotLK came out. Enjoy!?

The bonfire had roared during the festivities for this year's Eve. The young girls had feigned shrieks at the young boys' attempts to frighten them. Their masks were not truly scary, but they relied more on their wit and charm rather than their devilry for these games of mischievousness. Gales of laughter had swept through all when good ol' Laurie had fallen in headfirst while bobbing for that last apple. A thick woolen blanket and a spot next to the fire made her easier to pick out earlier, but now that the blaze had died down and the evening had fully blossomed into night, those remaining at the fire were shrouded by a tickling of shadows.

The youngsters had been sent off to bed, or at least to the shelter of the common room at the inn, and the rest had settled into that comfortable silence that accompanies a favored tradition in these parts known as fire watching. The logs were transformed into embers, and the embers crumbled to ash. Their eyes consumed all of it.

Most eyes had sagged a bit, sated by the fire, when the lute began to play. A few notes to test the strings followed by a couple adjustments to smooth the tuning. No dancing jig would be played this late, nor did the first few notes remind anyone of happiness and sunshine. It was a somewhat discordant melody that came from the lute, and gently a voice joined. Not immediately bursting, it was as though the musician had to summon the unwilling song into the night. The minor chords settled into the coals of the fire and baked there before fully engulfing the ears of the watchers.


A single sheaf of parchment was found nailed to the message board in the Dalaran Visitor's Center.
No one saw who posted it. No one claimed it, and the page was unsigned.
Upon it was written the following:

Girding my sword, I did pray
My rep to gain that sunless day.
The icy shore is where I travelled
And found a tale I soon unravelled.

A portly bunch, these walrus folk
Intent on fishing, of that we spoke.
Their game had dwindled from the sea,
Dinner plates scoffed emptily.

The oldest ones alive scurried to survive but were failing.
The mouths of the younger knew the word hunger and were wailing.
Their fate was slipping.

Mongrels nearby had stolen their food
A plan was hatched, effective but crude.
Storm their camps , secure the supplies;
Bring back the young, we can Resensitize.

No parley was called, no terms agreed,
My sword was there to plant a seed.
A future depended on this day's actions,
We cannot abide these bloodthirsty factions.

The oldest ones alive scurried to survive but were failing.
The mouths of the younger knew the word hunger and were wailing.
My blade was dripping.

Twelve feral pups, I had seized
From the tents of the fiends among the trees.
Their sobs bled my soul as I bore them away,
But their future had changed due to me that day.

The eyes of the tusk-men lit up with delight
When I rode back to town with a bundle that night.
A feast was declared, a crisis averted.
Into a pen, the dozen pups were herded.

The chief declared since we were so few,
That some would be saved for a span or two.
He grabbed the largest pup, from his belt pulled a knife
As my heart punched my throat- he took the pup's life.

A fire was struck, a cookpot filled
For the stew from the flesh of the wolvar he killed.
The chef licked his lips, he strode back to the snare,
More meat would be needed for tonight's grisly fare.

The oldest ones alive scurried to survive but were failing.
The mouths of the younger knew the word hunger and were wailing.
My heart was ripping.

I rue this tale has no hero today,
But the truth is the truth, I am sad to to say.
I fled from the feast with bile in my throat
Never to return.

...Or so the story was wrote.