Tale Eighty Six: Littlebark's Corner - A New Song is Sung.

She had zoomed by Draenor as a young druid, anxious to get to Northrend.

Still, from what she could remember, the Outland had beautiful parts just as it had land drenched with evil. She found it soothing to fly over the marshes of Zangermarsh and knowing that soon enough, she’d be helping heal this land.

Maybe this time I’ll be able to actually heal something and make a difference.

The Sporeggar were friendly, if a little cautious of her. She towered over them, having to bend down to hear them. They warmed to her eventually, and soon even the children were carefree enough to play with her.

It felt good being asked for help, she thought to herself as she gathered Glowcaps. It felt good not to worry about death and plagues for once.

“Shame, that such talent is wasted here.”

She looked up, surprised at hearing a voice she did not recognize. An orc glared down at her, studying her. Littlebark stood slowly, wiping the dirt off her hands on her plain dressings. “I beg your pardon?”

“Bahh!” The orc spat irritably as he began to pace, “This task you’ve forced yourself to do is for peons and recruits. Best leave as soon as possible.”

Her jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed. In a low and dangerous voice, she hissed, “The Sporeggar need help, they don’t care whether it’s from a peon, recruit or a veteran of war.”

Out of his pouch, he pulled a small totem. Slowly twirling it between his fingers, he muttered to himself, “The fool believes she has meaning here. I say we leave her to her fate.”

The anger flashed in her, leaving her vision red. Asking the Earthmother for patience, she snapped, “I am no fool, orc. Who are you? Why are you here?”

He let out a single grunt, whether it was full of content or humor, she couldn’t tell. “Have it your way. Druid, the spirits have told me to seek you.”

“The… spirits,” she played with the word slowly then shook her head, “perhaps you’re looking for the wrong Tauren. I answer to the Earthmother, shaman.”

“I care not for your fairytales,” he said simply, ignoring Littlebark’s menacing growl, “The wind plays a new song now. One of deep slumber. Of dark past come anew. The spirits have brought me to you, so that you may assist us.”

Shivers ran down her spine. When she finally found her voice, she breathed, “I have done my share, in Northrend. Isn’t that enough?”

The orc let out a roar, causing her to stumble two steps back. “Enough talk. You will come either way! Spirits witness! You will bend to this fate. Now, come! Prove to me that that the spirits have chosen a worthy one.” He pulled out both maces from his belt, already his blood boiling with bloodlust.

Littlebark looked stunned. Her hand reached for her staff, her eyes swimming with confusion, “I cannot just leave my post, shaman. My leader – he has placed me – WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

She dodged the mace, but just barely. Her staff blocked the next blow but the ancient wood groaned in effort. Using all her weight and height, she pushed him far away enough to morph into her travel form and stay out of his reach. Fear, confusion and anger –all rolled into one – were pitted in her belly as she pushed her paws hard into the earth.

“Run, fool!” He yelled with laughter in his voice.

“STOP THIS MADNESS! WHO ARE YOU!?” Littlebark bellowed when she had put a safe distance between them, panting heavily as she muttered a spell to ease her wound, “I will NOT be killed by some maniac. I refuse you and your duel! What do you want? ANSWER ME!”

“Witness! I am Karsung! Battle Shaman of the Warsong Clan! The spirits have asked me to bring you to them! So that they may seek your help.”

“The Warsong Clan? What on Earth do they want with…” she heaved a great sigh, rubbing her temple, “I will go… for now. I need to inform my leader; Cryssam.”

“Do not test my patience, Druid.”

She ignored his order and said easily, “we can go to Zabra’jin. The Sporeggar do not trust easily, and you would make them uneasy with your presence in their village.”

Karsung snorted, “they would be foolish to test me. Come, spore people! Prove your worth!”

Littlebark grabbed his arm, pulling him farther away from the village before he could cause more damage. “Hush, fool. They have their reasons for trusting only a few. Let’s set off to the neighboring troll village. It’s not far, and I can tie any loose strings there.”

“So be it.”

She let out a long, drawn out sigh. Whatever her job with the Sporeggar was, it looked like it was done for now.

Tale Eighty Five: How To Fail At Hibernating.

How to Fail at Hibernating.
- a helpful list by Littlebark-

1)Keep in contact with old guildies.
2)Be guildless for 8 months.
3)Not raiding for 8 months.
4)Silently seething at the non-completed Lich King achievement.
5)Talking to guildie about maybe, sort of, kind of raiding again as a group.
6)Letting the idea brew in my mind.
7)Snatching Littlebark back from Mr. Littlebark and promptly transferring her back to Cenarius. “Just in case.”
8)Damn, Littlebark the name was taken by my alt… invoke Twitter help! @altinfam suggests: Mediumbark.
9)Start doing a BUNCH of heroics and PuG raids to get tank and healing gear. “Just in case.”
10)Have a Vent meeting with 2 of our old officers.
11)... setting up a raid event for ICC, inviting every former member of the guild and their new friends.

All this boils down to….

Not hibernating.

So yeah. I’m now raiding again and have been for the past two weeks. We still have kinks to work through and things to discuss –hell; we’re not even a guild, yet! We’re just a bunch of friends having fun in the game again.

Just the way I like it.

Tale Eighty Four: I'm a *what* now?

Littlebark: You can't make fun of my leaves anymore. They butchered my tree form.

'Bob' the Pally Tank: That won't stop me, you're just some serial lumberjack's victim now.

Littlebark: D:

'Bob': Indeed.

Tale Eighty Three: The Blue Bar of DEATH

Picture Courtesy of Mr. Littlebark, drawn on Patch Day.

Tale Eighty Two: Something Wicked This Way Comes?

(:

Tale Eighty One: Hibernation

On Friday, I did something I never ever thought I'd do.

I gave my druid to Mr. Littlebark.

I love leveling. I love the grind. I had 5 maxxed leveled characters at one point. My hunter, my druid, my warlock, my priest and my paladin.

Mr. Littlebark HATES leveling. He leveled his shaman to 80 when WOTLK came out because he had to. And he leveled his warrior with my priest. It took him 24 months to level his mage to 80. In the past two years, we've shuffled my toons to him because I don't play them and he's good at gearing them out.

I made it very clear that Littlebark was -and forever will be- out of bounds.

Maybe it's the valley of dullness I'm in at the moment with WoW. Maybe it's that I know that Catalysm is right around the corner. Maybe it's because I left the only two guilds I felt at home with and have been wandering solo for too long.

But when he asked -jokingly- for Littlebark, I said yes.

My toon that has my 4 pages of companion pets.

The toon that has TONS of exalted reputation.

The toon that I know like the back of my hand.

My only toon who has ever had a defined RP story.

Gone.

So this is my hibernation till Catalysm. I'm -of course- leveling another druid to 80, and hopefully before Catalysm hits.

But even then, who knows? I'm still irked over the "you have to dps as a healer now" bit. So we'll see how things go and hopefully you'll see me once Deathwing makes the first tremor.

Tale Eighty: Littlebark's Corner - An Empty Farewell

PART III

Littlebark stared at the parchment in front of her.

It held memories of people she had loved.

Say goodbye to who? Sighing heavily, she rested her head on her hand and played with the writing utensil. Neatly crossed out were names of friends come and gone.

Arriving in Northrend seemed so long ago; barely believable even to her that it had only been two years. So naïve she had been, she mused now, hopeful and ready to face anything.

She had been prepared for losses. After all, war wasn’t war without losing to gain something in the end. But to lose friends so close and dear! A price too high for a heart, especially when it happened over… and over… and over…

Old friend… I miss you, Littlebark shut her eyes, ignoring the tears that managed to squeeze through. Months had passed since they brought him back to the camp, wounded and in pain….

“Bark! Littlebark!”

She looked up, startled at her name being flung around so loudly and frantically. “Tel? What’s the matter?”

The undead rogue was shaking, terror on his face, “LB, you gotta come save him. The other healers –they’ve tried everything!”

She sprung up from her cot, “Let’s go. Who is it?” When the rogue remained quiet, Littlebark stopped in her tracks, “Tel, who is it?”

Tel fidgeted under her glare, “It’s Ras'han.”

Littebark’s eyes went wide and her hands flew to her mouth. “Earthmother, give me strength,” she gasped, “Is it bad?”

He nodded, “they… nothing’s working.”

Everything changed. Her heart began to race and she began to run to the Med Tent. Not fast enough to her liking, she spread her arms and took flight. Her new eyes were better at seeing than her normal Tauren ones, and she quickly spotted which Med Tent the commotion was at. She dived, pulling up seconds before she hit the ground, morphing back into her normal form. Landing with a soft thud and a grimace, she pushed past the crowd blocking the entrance and shut the drape when she got in.

He was quite a sight.

Blood was splattered on his clothes, but the pain seemed to go beyond. His face was contorted in pain and he was panting hard, forehead shining with sweat. His usually healthy and bright green skin was a pasty color and his eyes darted around the room.

“What happened?” she demanded fiercely, jogging to his side. With a few words, she began to seep healing magic into him.

“Putricide proved too much for us,” Cryssam spat, rubbing her wrists. Blood caked her faced and stuck to her hair, “he was trying to hard to make up for the lack of healing that was going on.”

The priest didn’t miss the venom in Cryssam’s voice. “it was either move or we’d get killed and then you'd be short two healers,” he explained calmly, “Littlebark, careful now. That’s a disease, you don’t specialize in that.”

“Poi-poisons… and curs..es.”

Littlebark’s eyes snapped to Ras'han's face, concentration lines decorating her forehead, “hush now. You need the energy to get better.”

“Hu-huuuurts.”

“Yes,” she whispered softly, “I know. I’m trying to make it better.” He fell into silence, still twitching and moaning softly. “Cryssam, start making arrangements to send him home.”

“How.”

She looked at him, daring to take her eyes away from Ras'han, “by mail? A messenger?”

Cryssam sighed impatiently, “by portal or in a coffin?”

“How dare you-“

“BARK!” the priest quickly stood up, putting a hand on her shoulder and struggling to hold the giant druid back.

Littlebark glared at Cryssam, hating her for staring back with amusement and such cold eyes, “he’s going to make it.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, the death knight walked out of the tent. Littlebark shuddered slightly, as she always did when Cryssam was around.

Staring into the restless face of Ras'han, she began to panic. Who would she go to when she needed help? He was her source of entertainment in this cold land, one of her only friends left. He knew and had everything and was selfless enough to help her. She had arrived to the battalion and been so clueless and he had been kind enough to show her around and keep her informed. “You have to get better, you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered slowly. Maybe she imagined it or maybe he was trying to tell her everything was going to be okay… but she could have sworn that the force on her hand got heavier, as if chasing away all her fears.