The Tale of Robuin Thunderhorn

His thunderous roar echoed through the tall stone trees of the underground city, shaking random pebbles from the slightly eroding roof. His face rippled as he heaved himself through the concourse of little reptillian creatures clinging to his huge, shaggy body. He swung his arm and a pair of them flew into the wall, with a sharp splintering sound as they hit. The small one up front reached for the dagger at his belt and yelled at his men, waving his arms and shouting. Robuin heaved again and the chains covering his back stretched with the silvery clink of steel being bent. His bull-like head bore a pair of heavy horns, ivory white, and slightly upturned at the ends. He bowed his head to spear the little men but slipped on the cobbled stone. His totem was crushed under his weight as he fell and his heart broke as he felt its splinters dig into his skin. Suddenly he felt cold. Cold, alone and without his grandfathers. He felt his ancestor’s spirits flow around him and out into the world. He felt the presence of his ancestors leave him, and he bellowed in anger, frustration, and hate. The sound was terrible to hear, the loss of hope, the helpless anguish from a once proud and mighty beast. The little creatures screeched and gave way hopping and leaping down the steps into the ruins of the city. The huge Tauren heaved once and collapsed to the earth, exhausted and demoralized.

He awoke to the sounds of tiny footsteps, skittering over the stone and scrabble. The huge axe came quickly to his massive hand and he was on his feet in an instant. But instead of the small reptilian creatures he had anticipated, a whole new challenge awaited him. They were still smaller than him, but were larger than his previous assailants. They were about the same height, but were much heavier built and they each had heavy metal armor, wielded metal weapons and sported large furry beards of varying colors and hues. A thick, red beard up front spoke to him in a strange language, and Robuin shook his head, trying to make sense of the creatures tongue. He could make no sense of the gibberish it rattled, but mayhap it could understand him. “I mean no harm, but if you assault me I will leave none of you alive.”

They conversed amongst themselves and started to jiggle strangely, making small grumbly noises that sounded like small avalanches inside their throats. He furrowed his brow trying to make sense of their speech and their current movements. As he did so the noises the creatures made rose in volume and lowered in pitch. They motioned for him to follow them and seeing no problem, he did so, and they traveled through the ruined, broken city without incident.

They traveled for some time; Robuin didn’t know how long, it was hard to keep track of time underground. The little bearded creatures would occasionally pull strips of meat from their packs and give him some to eat. They slept on small woven mats and made small fires to cook their food. It made it taste strange and it was hot on his tongue but he enjoyed the new flavor it had when it was cooked.

They traveled for many days through the dark and gloomy caverns, occasionally seeing some underworld creature or other, but never having to do much more then glare to make them squeak in fright and run away.

At long last they came into a series of well-made, handily carved tunnels, smaller and smoother than the natural caverns, made over centuries from the dripping erosion of water, seeping down from the surface world.

Even farther in, the little party encountered a dead end of sorts, and Robuin began to turn around in frustration, but one of the little men grabbed his arm, and pointed at the wall ahead. Robuin shook his head; he had no idea what was going on. Suddenly the wall swung open inwards, revealing a sweeping vista of the bustling city below. Horns, bells and various clattering sounded through the air, bewildering him, and drowning any other sounds. His head swiveled like a shot, hither and thither, trying to take in all that was going on around him. Others of the city pointed and stared at him, and he began to become more self conscious. He held his hand at the haft of his axe, wary of trouble from any source. The little men led him clear across the city; the walk took many hours. Finally they arrived at a huge stone building, arched at the top, smoke billowing from several embedded chimneys. A long flight of stairs stretched up into the building, and great furnaces could be heard roaring within. A slight tangy odor hung in the air, reminiscent of smoke, brimstone, and red-hot metal. On top of the entranceway was carved a massive hammer superimposed over an anvil. An unarmored man with a long grey beard shuffled down the steps towards them. He and the others spoke for a moment, sometimes gesturing to Robuin, sometimes at one another. Watching them, Robuin deduced that they were deciding his fate. A little black beard was arguing violently and was glaring viciously at Robuin, while the large brown beard, and the old grey beard were softer in tone and less aggressive in argument. Finally, the grey beard came up to Robuin and spoke.
“Do you mean us harm, Minotaur?”
Stunned, Robuin knew not what to say.
“Can you understand me?” inquired the little man.
Robuin nodded, still shaken. For weeks he hadn’t spoken with any of the band and this old man’s questions had him off guard.
“I mean no harm. I am grateful for the kindness shown to me.” The words came slowly, and he stuttered a bit.
“Excellent, and you are welcome. Follow me.” The creature gestured and Robuin began to walk, taking short steps to avoid outdistancing the creature.
“We here in Deeping Dales, are all dwarves, Muradin’s people. You are welcome to stay if you wish it, but if not, we will give you food and supplies to continue on your way. We can even point you to the surface.”
He stopped and looked up over his shoulder.
“I do not mean to be rude, but my people aren’t used to your people wandering our streets. I don’t want any trouble here, and I’m afraid, that although you aren’t looking for it, it will find you.”
Robuin nodded, but his attention was on another subject. He had noticed a strange creature, similar to the dwarves, but she looked to be younger and yet she was almost taller then these people. She wore a dirty yellow-brown smock, and small leather sandals. Her hair was raven black, and her face, which was pretty even in misery, wore a depressed and dejected look. She held a small bowl out for the other dwarves passing by her to drop coins into.
“Who is she?” he asked quietly, nodding toward her.
“She is a human from the surface. We found her in a small cave a mile west of here, and she was indentured here in the temple. Why do you ask?”
“She is sad.” The Tauren replied.
“That is true, would you like to help her?”
“Yes! That would be most agreeable.”
“Then when you leave, take her with you. She is a surface dweller, and not one of our own. We could take care of her, but she has been silent ever since she arrived. Mayhap you can get her to talk. Here, take this. It will give you the ability to converse in the hearer’s native tongue. I’m sure it will come in very useful on the surface world.”
The Dwarf handed him a small carved stone, about three inches in diameter. It looked as if water was swirling and slopping inside but when Robuin tried to touch the liquid, he was thwarted, the stone seeming to be a few inches away from where he thought it had been. He tried again but to no avail. Giving up he put the stone in his pouch and walked towards the girl. She looked up as he approached and fear welled in her eyes.
“No no, it’s all right. I mean no harm.”
She relaxed only slightly and her eyes were as large as saucers.
“Dear one, I am to be your guardian on the journey’s we will take back to the surface. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded, in similar fashion to his previous experiences.
“Good. If it is agreeable to you, we shall make our exodus in the morn.”
Again, she nodded.
“Come, ride with me.” He extended his hand and the girl took it, tentatively at first, but with more confidence as she extended her arm. He grasped her small and fragile hand in his and hoisted her to his shoulder, nearly tossing her into the air she was so light. She lighted on his shoulder and they walked with the grey beard to the rooms they would use that night. They ate a small meal of barley bread and curded milk, both new to the Tauren warrior. Later, Robuin tucked the small child into bed.
“Would you like me to tell you a story of my people?” he asked on a whim.
The little girl nodded quietly, smiling shyly.
“In the ancient days, in olden years there was a great Tauren warrior named Grogal Bloodhoof. He was a mighty warrior and a wise chief to his tribe and village. His people were great in the land they inhabited, and they were honorable in all their battles. In a campaign against the foul orc tribes of the northern pines, his tribe was ambushed, and he was left alone with a young warrior named Trokar. As they battled, Grogal was badly wounded in the hip and lay on the ground bleeding. The orcs closed in and began to overrun the younger, less experienced warrior. But to protect his tribe he spilled his life blood, killing all of the orcs around him before he crashed to the earth, glorious in victory. In my people, the most honorable action is to give your life for another. This Trokar Shatterspike did those long years ago. This he did to save my grandfather, who still rules our tribe in great wisdom.”
The little girl looked up at him reverently, and then reached out and grasped him tightly. Her tiny hands didn’t reach halfway around his arm, yet he felt great warmth, and patted her gently before laying her down to sleep.

The next morning, the dwarves bid them farewell, shaking his hand, a strange new custom they said he’d need on the surface. He blew air from his nostrils and taking the little girl on his shoulder, he trudged up and out of the city, in the way that the Dwarves had given him. Soon a bright light spurred him forward and he emerged into the glorious sunshine he missed so much.

Then the heat hit him.

He stood in the middle of a burning waste of sand, stretching as far as he could see into the distance. He felt it settle around him like a lead weight, pressing his flesh in towards his bones and crushing the air from his lungs. The girl smiled at him and pointed, stretching her finger across the barren waste.
“That way?”
She nodded.

And so he trudged, deep into the sandy waste, striding through the hot sun, fierce winds and stinging sands of the blasting deserts. It took him two days to realize that if he continued to drink, he would soon kill them both. He took one last swig and every time he was offered water he pushed the girl’s hand away and made her take a sip. She frowned at him in concern but never spoke a word.

Many days in to the burning heat, Robuin began to lose coherence. He saw water on the ground and when he knelt to drink he swallowed only sand, which in turn increased his thirst. The girl began to cry, but he put his finger to her lips.
“Don’t cry. It wastes water.” His parched lips could barely form the words and his hollow throat crackled as he spoke. The tears immediately stopped and their march continued.

Several more days passed and Robuin began to stumble and stagger. The girl was thrown from his shoulder where she crashed into the sand. Robuin heard a hiss and the girl screamed. He snatched her from the ground and felt a sharp stinging pain in his wrist. A small viper lay hissing and shivering on the ground, and looking at his wrist, Robuin saw two small beads of blood, crimson against his pale, sun bleached flesh. He snatched the viper which bit him again, and tore its head off with his teeth. He offered it to the girl who, sobbed, and shook her head. He swallowed the creature whole and continued trudging.

The next day a small peak appeared on the horizon, and Robuin, tired and sick, made tracks toward it. The venom in his blood began to burn his brain, and he wanted to lie down and quietly sleep here. The sun began to feel warm, rather than hot, and it occurred to him a nap might be nice. He began to lay down, but the little girl jumped from his shoulder and shook her fist at him. He stared uncomprehending.
“I’m Braza Illidian, and I want to go home!”
Robuin stared for a moment, gathering his will and leaped to his feet, snatching the girl and plowing forward, rushing headlong across the desert. The girl screamed with delight, but Robuin heard nothing. The peak became a tower, which blossomed into a palace, which sprouted into a city, shining pale red across the burning waste. It rose up in front of him, towering in his path. It was surrounded by tall, adobe walls and huge towers, topped in minarets, with large brass globes topping the pinnacles. He ran onward, streaking forward, until his foot caught, and he fell to the earth, right in front of the huge gates. His eyes rolled wildly and his breathing was hoarse. The little girl picked herself up and ran to the huge creature, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his fevered hide.
“I love you Robuin. Thank you for taking me home. I’ll never let you die. Go with honor.”
And the little girl wept over the big Tauren, and tears streaked from his hair, but Robuin Thunderhorn’s body lay totally still, and the great warrior smiled.