Post by Trehmar on Oct 22, 2010 12:17:51 GMT -5
For nearly a moon now the Banepaw Fellowship has camped in a small clearing in the heart of the Stonetalon Mountains. Though some of the more restless among them come and go or wander the region, they have eaten, drank and shared this temporary home together for much of this time. The old ways of living with family and tending to one another seem strong and alive among these noble, eager tauren.
Though the Tribe (and therefore the Fellowship) continues to grow at a steady pace as word reaches the tauren longing for a more spiritual lifestyle, the land itself groans and trembles. Trees fall and rocks tumble to new resting places, lakes wither and streams become trickles, the soil becomes dust and the beasts of the land flee into their dens, too afraid to leave them. The Wheathoof tribe, living their semi-nomadic lifestyle atop a butte have lost much of their crop and are unable to supply Sun Rock Retreat and other Horde camps in the mountains as they have done for the past years.
Trading for an old bag of corn seeds, young Windchanter has decided to attempt to nourish the small glade where the Banepaw have camped. Telomwe has been off hunting for days, likely with little luck and the bellies of the Fellowship must grumble and groan. Drought has struck the entirety of Kalimdor, and even the life-promoting druids feel it in their dry eyes and parched tongues.
As the tauren try to create a source of food for themselves in case this drought goes on, the fire elementals remaining in the Charred Vale have grown rowdy and dangerous. The harpies desperately raid travelers for food. The starving beasts turn violently on one another. The land is dying, and not even the shaman know why.
Though the Tribe (and therefore the Fellowship) continues to grow at a steady pace as word reaches the tauren longing for a more spiritual lifestyle, the land itself groans and trembles. Trees fall and rocks tumble to new resting places, lakes wither and streams become trickles, the soil becomes dust and the beasts of the land flee into their dens, too afraid to leave them. The Wheathoof tribe, living their semi-nomadic lifestyle atop a butte have lost much of their crop and are unable to supply Sun Rock Retreat and other Horde camps in the mountains as they have done for the past years.
Trading for an old bag of corn seeds, young Windchanter has decided to attempt to nourish the small glade where the Banepaw have camped. Telomwe has been off hunting for days, likely with little luck and the bellies of the Fellowship must grumble and groan. Drought has struck the entirety of Kalimdor, and even the life-promoting druids feel it in their dry eyes and parched tongues.
As the tauren try to create a source of food for themselves in case this drought goes on, the fire elementals remaining in the Charred Vale have grown rowdy and dangerous. The harpies desperately raid travelers for food. The starving beasts turn violently on one another. The land is dying, and not even the shaman know why.
