World of Warcraft®

((Like the title suggests, please feel free to join in if you wish!))

The muggy air and crying of seabirds made Bremmin feel sleepy. Even the breath of the tide was pulling her closer to sleep. Her evening had ranged from exciting, to stressful and finally peaceful. Her only regret was not catching the name of that other druid...
Stretching her paws out along the branch she lay on, Brem thought about her place among the others. She freely admitted to herself that she was still more at ease in her bestial forms. Though, she had no trouble reverting to her true state anymore. She would never forget the man who helped her find herself.
A salty breeze ruffled her black and violet fur, tugging at her tufted ears. She purred into the wind, over the foamy shore, unafraid in her lofty perch. On the morrow she would return to the big white city, Stormwind. Maybe after that she'd go back to the big tree in the ocean. Teldrassil.
She was remembering things much better now.
Bremmin closed her moonlit silver eyes and drifted to sleep.

Brokenfang stalked beside her, his silver stripes flickering like stars in the darkness. A small herd of doe waiting just over the crest, amid the shattered islands below the waterfall. Tonight, if the Moon was with them, the whole pride would eat well.
Mothcatcher, spirited in her youth, gamboled behind her surrogate father, examining tracks and pouncing bugs. She yet bore the scars of the great black dragon's passing, and Brokenfang knew that she would never fully heal. He and his mate had found her washed far inland, smelling of blood and fire and sea. He knew in his heart she wasn't a true nightsaber, but that hardly mattered. She was young, and so close to death. Besides, ever had the nightsabers of old held pacts with her kind.
For days he and his mate, Moonriver, cared for her as best they could. But there was nothing they could do about the deep wounds in her neck and chest. She would never roar, nor speak, again. If she lived.

Bremmin awoke from her dream unsettled. Even though her memory was healing, she could not recall anything before her time with the nightsaber pride. She knew she was raised on the coast of Darkshore, in Auberdine, but only because one of the other survivors had recognised the amulet she wore around her neck.
A simple oak leaf glazed in emerald and silver, topped by the crescent moon and hung on braided leather. It had belonged to her mother, Kalia Oakheart. She was dead now, taken by the fire, lost in the sea. Bremmin couldn't yet remember who her father was, or if she had any siblings.
The Sun made it's final glare of red over the horizon, and vanished into a pool of blood. Brem rolled her shoulders, her bones shifting as she adjusted her form for the travel she was about to undertake. Fur turned to feather, fang to beak and claw to talon. Her violet brindling became ticking on the edges of her wings. Her tufted ears became simple tufts upon her head, her mane became a crest.
When the last tingles of pain subsided, Bremmin lazily dropped out of the tree and used the ample thermals to gain height and speed. Her wide wings and stiff plumage made it easy for her to ride upon the back of the wind itself, shortening travel time and lessening the energy she'd need to use.
It was nice, this shapechanging business. She wished she could remember why she'd chosen it originally.
Surely it had little to do with travel?

Bremmin reached Stormwind just as the next night began to wane. She was tired, but not exhausted. However, a good meal was the only thing on her mind. Her empty belly growled at her and she growled right back, resuming her feline form. Clearly she wasn't thinking straight, because it would be easier to just buy a meal at a local pub.
Force of habit.
So around the city she stalked, chasing down rats, birds and even a large catfish. Satisfied, she crept from place to place on silent paws, reading bulletins and listening to the conversations of the locals. Everyone seemed to be focused on the front in a place called Draenor.
Huh. Another year, another war. Bremmin shrugged it off and kept on, listening for anything more relevant to herself. Maybe she'd catch wind of an organization needing her skills. Brem frowned. Did she have any skills? She could track and hunt, sneak and listen. But she couldn't speak, or sing. She could run for hours and dance all night, but her skills in battle were lacking.
Hmph. Who wanted to fight all day anyways?
Cocking a foot, Bremmin turned to scratch at her itchy ear, making all of her baubles, trinkets and jewelry chatter. She really did have a problem with shiny things. Her head, neck and shoulders were burdened with all manner of beads, coins and amulets. It was a wonder she didn't jingle with every step.
Maybe if she sold some, she'd have enough money for a room at one of the inns...
First, though, she'd have to find one that wouldn't chase her out with a broom!

((I'll bite. Not literally, of course. :) ))

Curiosity killed the cat. Or so the saying goes, but Lini had never (well, not quite never) come close to getting shanked over snooping like a common stray. Not that Lini considered herself to be common. Of course she didn’t. How could she with a figure like hers and a wit that could snare anyone into believing she was what she was not. She was, without a doubt, ambiguity at its finest.

Once upon an eve, she was out, doing her thing – being equivocally stealthy, mysterious and trying not to sneeze and (literally) blow her cover when she spotted the shiny, jingling druid. Her nose twitched and inquisitive eyes observed as she shadowmelded into a sequestered perch on the roof of a nearby building.

Interesting, Lini thought, that one doesn’t look like a stray either, but she sure eats like one. I wonder where she came from.

Munching on her latest catch, an overly large moth that might have been someone's pet, Bremmin hunkered down into a patch of grass along the cobbled road. She crunched through armored husk and lapped up the sticky juices, painting her face with the dusty wings. Moth was her favorite snack, and she was always amused by the way their powder clung to her fur.
A change in the wind brought new scents down to her, and Bremmin raised her head. What was that? She crinkled her muzzle and tasted the air. Feline. Another druid, or perhaps a saber mount? Her whiskers quivered. It was always exciting to encounter a new smell, a new person. Even the large, saddled cats had news to share. They, most of all, were in the midst of of everything important.
Looking around, she couldn't see anyone, but her nose insisted. So Bremmin finished her snack, leaving the husk for its unwitting owner to find eventually, and stalked over to the nearest window. If she couldn't see from down here, she'd have to look from above. One hunker and a rump wiggle later, she was on the tiled roof of a squat building. From there she leapt from eave to eave, following her nose to find the mysterious feline.
Come out, come out, where ever you are!

"FLUTTERS!!! It was Flutters, Lorrik!" A small dwarf squealed to the taller worgen.
The worgen snorted. "I'd eat it too, with that name.." He chuckled, then raised his clawed hands as the dwarf took a swing at his chest. "Calm down, now.. I'll see what I can sniff up." With a roll of his shoulder, Lorrik knelt down and took a deep breath through his nose. He tilted his head for a moment, then sneezed, the moths glittery dust clouding around him. The wolf coughed and stood, then nodded to the dwarf. "Alright, Norb.. I've got a bit of something, and I'll see what I can do." The young dwarf nodded, then started wiggling his hands to try and resurrect his prized moth.

Lorrik looked over his shoulder at his friend, then shook his head and sighed. He turned his nose to the sky and inhaled, pivoting slightly before opening his eyes.

Cat.

Slowly, he followed the trail of lightly shed fur and the faint scent of earth from the cats paws up a roof top. He stopped and crouched, dark fur blending with the shadows. He kept his hands close to his body, staying on two legs as to not draw attention with the clicking of his claws against the tiled roof tops. It didn't take horribly long for the scent to get stronger. As he rose over another roof, Lorrik caught the sight of many tiny emblems, coins and baubles glint and shine. He contemplated for a moment if he actually wanted to confront the cat about the dead moth, or if telling his friend that the scent went cold would work. Snorting softly, he got closer to the cat before making himself known.

"Aye, cat.." his tone was just above a whisper, just enough for the moths assailant to hear, and from his pocket he pulled out a silver gilded fang. He rotated the tooth, letting the metal catch the small glow of light from the lanterns that were almost out of oil for the night. He judged from the felines jewelry that intriguing it with something of shine and value would be less stressful for them both than a cleverly placed ice trap.

"We need to talk.."

Bremmin's patient hunch had become a frustrated slouch. There was no sign of the other feline anywhere that she could see. Her ears turned and turned, but all she heard was the griping of a Dwarf nearby. She licked her lips, savoring her dusty whiskers. Maybe she should just move on...
Claw-on-tiles caught her attention, and she turned to see what was after her. Wolf-man! Her mane went up in a tizzy, followed by her tail. But something shiny caught her eye before she could bolt to safety. So shiny...
"We need to talk."
Well, that was going to be a challenge. Bremmin settled onto her haunches, ears forward. She did her best to convey that she was listening, but whether the wolf-man would understand, she knew not. Her eyes, however, were firmly on the sparkly, silver fang. Oh, she needed one like that. Yes indeed.
One slow blink brought her attention fully to the worgen's face.
Oh.
Uh oh...

As the cat turned to look at the fang, Lorrik tilted his head. He'd tamed cats that acted this way, but none that looked this way. This one reminded him of a druid friend that preferred her catself to her elven one. Yes.. A strong resemblance to a druids cat form. Very cat, and very not-cat. It was a strange thing, but at the very same time, natural.
"There we are.. You want this, do you?" He held the fang out by a thin leather strap. His rough voice probably wasn't aiding him in trying to be calming and persuasive, being almost closer to a grumbling growl than a humans tone.
"I wouldn't mind parting with it.. Under condition that you don't eat my dwarf friends moth again." He smiled slightly, enough to show the tips of his teeth. He'd learned a full smile was only for those with a strong heart and gut. He closed his hand around the trinket and sat back against a cold chimney.

"Well, is it a deal?"

Bremmin settled onto her belly, her attention torn between the fang and the worgen's words. Of course she wanted it. Her rear wiggled in happy anticipation. Don't eat the moth again. Well... that was something she could do. There were plenty of rats and birds in the city anyways. Besides, the moths back home were plumper.
She batted a cautious paw, her mouth opening in a silent plea for the shiny. The whispery rasp she made sounded equally pitiful and pathetic, but she really wanted that fang! It would certainly complete her bestial "vocabulary" of charms, baubles and coins.
And it would look fantastic hanging around her neck.

No words, only sound. Lorrik's ears twitched. "I'll take that as a yes, then." He couldn't help but give a light chuckle at the cat. That something so simple as a shiny trinket could get the creature that riled up baffled him. In a good way.

He held out his hand, the fang and leather strap presented. "Unless you have hands I can't see, might be a bit tricky to get this on. I'll help." He motioned for the cat to come forward, lowering his eyes and nose. Animal body language he knew quite well. He didn't want this deal to go sour because he looked like he wanted to kill the poor thing. "Also, why eat moths? There are plenty of other ways to get food.." he shrugged lightly. "Just a thought."

Bremmin shimmied on her belly, ears back cautiously, getting close enough for Lorrik to drape the strap over her head. Her ears came up slowly as she neared, the flattened again so they wouldn't snag on the strap. She looked at him reproachfully at his silly question. Why moths? Because they're crunchy and delicious! Even the thought had her licking the last of the dust from her muzzle.
Hm.
Definitely time to make a trip home, if only for a decent meal. Or maybe find a different hunting ground near the city. She actually liked the hustle and bustle, all of the smells and sounds. It wasn't so lonely and empty here. Well, not that any place was truly empty. Bremmin just enjoyed the company of peoples.
Especially the little round ones that squeaked!

Lorrik slipped the fang over her head and nodded. "It suits you. I'm glad it found a proper owner." As she stared at him, he shrugged. "I'm more of a red meat person I guess." As she licked her maw, he shook his head. "More filling then moths and other various bugs. If you're still hungry, I have a better way to get food then chasing down rats." He slowly stood, then ran a hand through the ruff on his neck. He wasn't normally one for the city, but recent business engagements forced him to stick around. He much preferred vast plains or thick woods to cobblestone streets and dull lamp light.

He looked back to the glimmering feline, "Or if you know of a better place than an Inn to rustle up food, perhaps you can show me." as he spoke he stretched, fiddling with the straps and buckles holding his armor in place.

Pleased as a duck in the rain, Bremmin sat up proudly to admire her new shiny. It hung perfectly between her bronze gear, broken boar tusk, glass ball and thingamajig nozzle (some manner or Gnomish device she "rescued" from a broken mechanostrider). Better yet, it complemented her collection of silver coins she'd dug up in the Plaguelands. And the silver-plated leaf brooch from Capitol City.
Oh yes, she was a very happy Bremmin.
Food?
With a beckoning flick of her tail, Bremmin hopped down from tile to tile until she was in an alley way behind the houses. With a backwards stare to make sure Lorrik was following, she set off down the way to a place that was just over-flowing with food.

Lorrik smiled to himself as she admired her new addition to the collection. Then, before he knew it, she was off. He shook out his fur, then followed after the cat. he wasn't as quiet, or as agile, but he was surefooted and did a decent job of keeping up with her. Only after climbing down from the roof tops did he have to drop to all fours and run to catch back up with her. His armor made it a bit more difficult to maneuver than if he were just carrying himself. He stifled a cough, rubbing his nose as he walked on with her.
"Your spot better be worth the effort, cat." he teased, picking a small splinter from his left hand.

Over crates and under drying laundry she went, jingling all the way. Bremmin made zero effort to be quiet, in fact, she was making sure Lorrik could follow her sound if he got lost. Around to the right and then down to the left, she nimbly sped like a canoe down a stream.
One last turn, this one nearly turning 180 degrees, revealed a laden midden-heap, rife with food scraps. Bread husks, uneaten greens and bones made up the bulk of a four foot high pile. The smell was mildly overwhelming, but the rewards! Oh such wonderful surprises could be found within.
Bremmin hunkered down to paw through the refuse, picking out a particularly good looking hambone. She cracked it open with ease, lapping the marrow out of the center.
Better than any old Inn for sure.

Lorrik followed loyally until he saw what she had brought him to. He slowly shook his head, then laughed. "I suppose one mans trash is another ones treasure." He knelt down, picking through the left overs until he found some rib bones with a bit of meat left. He crunched the bone, then chewed on the splinters and cooked marrow. "You know, that tooth came from a bear at least four times your size." He chomped down on another bone, his eyes half closing. It was peaceful, chewing on old bones with someone he'd only just met. It was a bliss he rarely had these days.
"And, why don't you talk? It's obvious you can understand me. Do you just not like your other forms?" he prattled on for a moment, then stopped. "Sorry.. I don't have company much." he laughed dryly.

Bremmin purred like a rusty old tank over her meal. Even louder when Lorrik sat and shared her meal. She looked up, licking her chops, at his sudden stream of words. She wanted to answer him, but couldn't. A silent mew wasn't enough to convey the full story of her ruined throat.
With a sigh, Bremmin turned back to her marrow, trying to think of a way to make her disability more... visible.

Lorrik's ears twitched, and he left it at that. Perhaps she didn't want to talk, or simply didn't have an explanation. He shrugged, then went back to gnawing on a rib bone. He leaned back, itching his nose softly. "I got the tooth not long after I accepted the worgen curse." he licked his jaws and picked a few sinewy bits from his teeth. "Was a huge black bear. Largest one I'd ever seen." he stretched, popping a few vertebrae in his neck. "A good friend of mine gilded it while tinkering with blacksmithing. I threaded the leather through it in intent to wear it, but never did."
After a moment he leaned forward and picked through some of the scraps again. He found a rather large bone, probably from a cow. He leaned over, gently scratching the cat behind the ear. "Wish I knew your name. Maybe one day, eh?" he chuckled softly, settling back with the bone, nibbling off a few scraps.
And hopefully we don't get chased off.. It's throw-outs anyway..
He gave a soft snort in thought.

Licking her paws, Bremmin kept an ear cocked to listen for the Broom Man. He usually didn't come out with more table scraps until Moon-noon, a concept no one but the night creatures seemed to understand. She purred as Lorrik recounted his tale about the bear fang, and was impressed that he gave it up so easily.
Thinking hard, and accepting the scritches with a redoubled purr, Bremmin began moving some celery stalks together to form letters. She wasn't well versed in Common, but she knew all the letters. Not the sounds though, or how they all fit together. That was something she was going to have to work on. Reading and writing was hard!
Let's see... Buh, B. Rem.. hm. R-M. Mn? M-N! B-R-M-M-N. How to tell him about her voice? What letters went together to make speak? Sss, S! Puh-eeek. Harder. P-E-C? S-P-E-C.
BRMMN
NO SPEC
Yes. Perfect. She was so clever!

Lorrik watched her fiddle with the old veggies, chewing absently on the joint of the bone. When he realized what exactly she was trying to do, he set the bone down and went to her side.
"Br-mm-en.." he scratched the side of his neck in thought. He had no idea where exactly this was going. He assumed the cat was trying to give her name and tell she couldn't speak. Phonetics were a wonderf-- Phonetics!
"Br-em-min. Clever cat." He chuckled softly and scratched between her shoulders. "May I call you Bremm for short, then?" he started moving the veggies to spell his own name, grabbing a small, half eaten tomato to dot the "i".
"My name is Lorrik. Not that it does much good, but now you know what it looks like, and who I am." He shrugged a tad, then sat back to his bone. "And you don't speak. Well, if I ever start to bore you with my rambling, just hiss at me or something." another small laugh. He didn't talk nearly this much to others, but his new friend seemed to settle his restlessness. For now she seemed content with putting up with him, which he was grateful for. A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

"If you had to pick, which one of your trinkets is your favorite?"

With a wiggle of delight, Bremmin studied the new letters closely. L O RR I K. Wait, K? She tilted her head, bemused by the silly rules of Common. Why use K when C made the same sound? She guessed it probably had something to do with the way Humans were once all over, then came together and needed to talk all the same. She was glad to be Kaldorei. Her people had all been talking the same for ages!
She listened and enjoyed the scritches as he rambled. Of course she didn't mind at all. Most peoples shooed her away or tried to tame her. Tame a wild druid, bah! It was much nicer just having someone who would tell stories and not treat her like an all-the-way-animal. She supposed it was her own fault for preferring her wild forms so much.
Bremmin turned and licked Lorrik's cheek, just to show him she didn't mind at all. She pondered over his query for a moment, recounting every adventure that had brought her all of her shinies. A comb from the ruins in Azshara reminded her of her mother. The silver oak leaf hung under a platinum crescent moon had belonged to her father. And a simple brass coin with her name stamped on it in Darnassian had been a gift from... someone.
But of all of her baubles and brooches, coins, combs and amulets, there was one that stood out from the rest. She'd had it made as a reward for helping a Dwarf reclaim his lost gryphon while exploring the Hinterlands. She nosed under her mane, through the coarser hair and down to her fluffy undercoat. Carefully, she pulled her prized shiny from a secret matted spot that kept it pristine.
It was a tiny harp. The strings were made of saber hair, twisted and pleated in the many colors of their breeds. Mirror-like crystal comprised the frame, so that it sparkled even in the dim light. The harp hung on a silver chain with a silver clasp shaped like Elune to held it in her fur. Obviously the work of a master craftsman. Or guided by magic. Either way, what it represented to her meant everything.
Etched across the base, in flowing script that practically shone, was the name Quin.
She held it out for Lorrik to look at, placing a paw on his knee. Her silver eyes were full of emotion. She rarely shared her Quinharp with anyone, but she wasn't the covetous sort. Though, if he did try to run off with it, she'd bite his ankles!