“Defend yourself if you can little fox.  I’ll make you famous,” shouted Fer Ulli, Champion of the Airgialla.

“You’ll never know the tenth part of my fame,” said CuRuada hefting his spear in an overhand grip and limbering his shield arm.

“Oh? Why is that?” scoffed Fer Ulli wading through the ford.

“You’ll not know anything beyond today.” CuRuada crouched as the big man came splashing toward him.

Fer Ulli drove his heavy headed spear hard toward CuRuada’s legs, hoping to wound him, but CuRuada knocked it away easily even as his spear dug a furrow in Fer Ulli’s shield.  The two men traded blows, each catching and diverting the other’s blows as they churned the water of the ford to brown mud.

Fer Ulli was the older of the two by far, so as the battle continued, and he could not get his spear past the boy’s shield to wound him, the shrewd champion attacked less and sought to conserve his strength for an opening.  Using his bulk he worked CuRuada into a deeper place in the ford, hampering his movements.  Fer Ulli feinted weakly with his spear and CuRuada struck it aside with more power than was needed.  Fer Ulli seemed to follow that weak jab, staggering and exposing his side.  CuRuada lunged and his spearhead grated along the rings of the champion’s mail.  Suddenly CuRuada was reeling from a shield edge smashed against his head on the way to striking his arm and carrying away his spear with his balance.

Fer Ulli pressed his advantage, thrusting again and again, but CuRuada’s momentary unbalance was gone.  Now with his short sword in hand, CuRuada began to press the older man.  Fer Ulli should have had an advantage in range with his spear, but CuRuada, angered now, seemed able to slip past Fer Ulli’s guard at will and his sword cuts were telling.

Worse yet, as Fer Ulli’s strength ebbed with each cut, flowing away like his blood on the river, CuRuada seemed to strengthen and his anger seemed to grow. 

To look on him now was a fearsome thing.  Where Fer Ulli had struck the young man was a deep bruise that had nearly closed his eye, but around the purple his face was almost as dark a red as the purple of the bruise.  While one eye squinted the other gaped wide with madness.  The boys hair stood on end like his name sake, and he now moved with animal quickness.

Gasping, Fer Ulli tried his best to defend himself.  CuRuada’s attacks seemed more like the maddened onslaught of a rabid animal than a warrior.  Then, for a moment, CuRuada seemed to slip and Fer Ulli tried to gather the last of his reserves.  He let his shield drop low and reared back to attempt a fight finishing thrust.  Too late, for CuRuada was already erupting from the water.  The feat was the Salmon Leap and last thing Fer Ulli ever saw was the arching body of his nemesis above him before the edge of CuRuada’s shield tore his shoulder from it’s socket and his sword found its way down beside his neck, through muscle and bone to find his heart.

WOW Fan Fiction

Though I don’t have an account of my own anymore, I do have a good friend who lets me have a few toons on his account.  I have seen two of my creations advance to level 80, the limit at this writing. 

Uhhh, when I say “have seen” I mean that though I created them and played them into their 60s or so I really can’t claim much of what came after that nor the shiny gear they now wear.  Feeling somewhat estranged from Buuluchk and Curuada in their current iteration I have decided to recreate them.  That at least is done, now the weary work of advancement.

BUT as I go I plan to watch where they travel and what they do.  These adventures in a world of someone elses creation might be fodder for the writers craft.  This then is a bit of why Buuluchk, the Dwarf Paladin, is the way that he is. 

A note about the name: In Buuluchk’s clan, the prefix Buis a descriptor applied to eldest sons.  Buuluchk’s mother was Ulu.It is not common for a son to be named for his mother, but there was no choice in his case.  He does not know who his father was and Ulu took that knowledge to her grave. She assured him, in his youth, that he was noble and honorable. Likely to compensate Ulu appended the suffix chk which means honorable, or honored.  This suffix is not normally used in naming a child, rather it is more commonly added to a title or honorary.  Ulu’s reasons are her own, it is assumed that she meant well. 

The Honorable Son of Ulu

It was not considered a horrible character flaw in a dwarf, tending to a fierce temper, but Buuluchk was at the end of his patience.  He was at training in arms.  Often it was a great opportunity for him to release the tension of a day spent learning the niceties of spirit, and devotion to deity, the more difficult part by far of what is demanded of a dwarf paladin in the service of light, in Buuluchk’s opinion.

In truth, his difficulty in sitting through lecture after lecture, his inability to sit and meditate on the excellency of the light, his fidgeting and fiddling when he aught to be listening and learning had very nearly seen him tossed out of the order all together.  This training for the business of war was solace.  Rather normally it was, but today he was paired with the glib tongued Laudbrue.

“Honored son of the woman. . .”  Laudbrue hurled his insults with his attacks. ”Honored son . . .    . . . of Ulu.”  And he laughed his petty laugh and acted as if he were teaching Buuluchk, as if he were his master, as if, for Buuluchk, this exercise wasn’t shield training so that he must withold blows because the master-at-arms had ordered it.

Laudbrue was older than Buuluchk by a year and a bit more, but more importantly he had been Buuluchk’s nemesis since childhood.  Hatred was an apt description of Buuluchk’s feelings toward Laudbrue and Laudbrue, for his part, had always been contemptuous of Buuluchk.  Who can say why it was, but it was indeed.

“What dangles by your side honored son?  Is it an arm, is that a weapon?” Laudbrue bashed Buuluchk’s shield with his mace and smirked, “Look all you! The honored son of a turtle.” This time Laudbrue carelessly leaped into the air in an attempt to strike Buuluchk an even harder blow.

“Quiet there you two.  Stop your playing and stick to work!”  Said the master-at-arms.  Ah the wrongness of Buuluchk being charged though silent while this pustulence dances and preens and flaps his vile mouth.

Thump, bang, clatter, shift and faint, but withhold, all the while the smirking Laudbrue cat-calls and mocks loudly enough to have fellow paladins snickering.  “Are you too weak Buuluchk?  I would have thought that your weapon arm was fit enough, you haven’t used it.”  There was a chorus of snickering laughs all around them, Buuluchk’s face burned as red as his beard.  Laudbrue dropped his guard as the master was busy giving instruction far off, “gods be good Buuluchk, you are pathetic.  Can’t you fight?” he snickered, “Well, son of the woman?”

“I could crush you. . .”, hissed Buuluchk.

“OH, crush me will you? Witness, see how he says so behind his shield.” Laudbrue dropped his hands completely to the side. “Admit, you don’t dare strike a real dwarf.”

“Come on Bullocks,” Laudbrue waved his shield at Buuluchk, “Have a go if you are a man at all.”

“I’d strike you, bastar. . .” He began a curse he couldn’t finish and a ripple of titters went out among his fellows.  Laudbrue struck a wallop that rang off his shield.  I could have destroyed him as if he were still standing without guard, thought Buuluchk, but the Master-at-arms says I must not.

“Me bastard?” Laudbrue laughed evilly.  “I?  The son of Bruall?” Laudbrue swung his mace wildly overhand.

The blow rattled Buuluchk’s teeth and made his arm ache, ” . . . you act one,” He said, “better to act or to be?”

Laudbrue’s eyes narrowed, “Who is your father then honored son of Ulu?” Laudbrue put all his strength into another bone-crushing over-hand smash, “Do you know, son of the woman? Do you?”

Laudbrue seemed unhinged, berserk, he rushed at Buuluchk, raining blows carelessly, battering away at his shield while Buuluchk gave ground. He laughed and taunted even more than he struck. 

“Fight turtle!” He swung and swung. “See?  He won’t fight, he can’t fight, he is a woman’s son and no man at all.”  Paladins around them were sparing an eye for the brawl, or an ear, some had stopped their training altogether to watch. Laudbrue’s attacks became ever more unbalanced, reckless, and erratic, but Buuluchk was tiring, both of the attack and the insults.  “Honored son? HAH! son of a whore.” 

Laudbrue reared back, preparing a devastating blow.  Buuluchk saw that Laudbrue used his shield as nothing but a counter-weight.  “I’ll show you your worth,” Laudbrue spit and charged, he leaped to add that momentum to his blow, his shield forgotten. 

But Buuluchk was not there.  He crouched, his leg muscles bunching for what he knew must come next.  He thrust, legs, shoulder and arm coming inside Laudbrue’s blow and drove his shield into his tormentor’s face.  Teeth and jaw shattered with a satisfying crunch.

*  *  *

The water roused him as much for the sting as it ran down his tortured back as for the coldness in his face.  “Come now boy, you have to be awake for them all.”  The trainer said almost kindly, “Just two more Buuluchk.”

The pain was exquisite.  His back was raw agony, but it seemed crueler to be woken from the pleasant memory of what had brought this beating than the pain that would pass.  Buuluchk chuckled a little and then in as clear a voice as he could muster said, “Well then, I can’t remember past twenty-seven.  I think you’ll have to give me three.”

For that, if nothing else, Buuluchk was remembered in the halls of Iron Forge.

Oatey was faster than she looked.  She fairly flew down the ridge and repeated the same attack that had killed the first goat.  For some time there was no chance for questions.  Lugh kept with the girl and the charging goat and not much more.

“The problem as he saw it,” Lugh mused, “was too much riding and not enough running.”  Still, he was close to her when they burst into another clearing dominated by an unlit bon-fire.  The goat looked worse than he did, head down, panting, but not for long.  With a deft slash Oatey put the goat out of its misery.

Oatey turned to the stacked wood.  Lugh was panting, hands on knees, watching her as she struck a spark in tinder and blew it into flame.  She thrust the flame into the wood and the bonfire flared to life.  Without hesitation she turned back to the goat.  With practiced ease she cut the legs free and threw them, one after another, onto the growing fire.  Smoke billowed.  “Help me with the body.” Oatey commanded.

Lugh grabbed the blood soaked animal and with Oatey threw it onto the bonfire.  “How is this going to kill a giant?”

Oatey stood, bloody to her elbows, hair, sweat matted to her head, and for all that, beautiful.  She smiled, “This is for confusion.”

“Wonderful, the giant and I are both confused.” 

“We stand over there.  The giant is drawn to this, burning meat, destruction of burning.  Then he smells us, sees us, comes for us.  We run down that defile and as he pursues, mad with hunger and hatred, he dies.” Oatey beamed her pride, “Come, the giant is near.”

Oatey, running like the wind, dashed off with her purpose clearly in mind.  Lugh, blowing hard, followed as he could.  As he followed he saw that there was indeed a cut in the rock ringed clearing.  Oatey slowed and stopped at a sort of edge where the grade turned steeply down.  Lugh slowed and was shocked to hear a booming, as of a drum, from his feet as they struck the earth, as if it were hollow. 

“A false floor, we can cross, but the giant will break though and his feet will find copper thorns but no better purchase to keep him from falling there.”  Oatey grinned mischieviously, “Have a look.” 

Oatey pointed down and standing next to her Lugh saw men of the Norfolk standing below.  Each of the men was manning a wicked looking pike rigged among the trees in the creek bed below.  There were others standing by thick ropes farther into the trees.

Oatey nudged Lugh, “For now we are the bait.”  She pointed back toward the fire. “See, he comes.”

The creature was every bit of fourteen feet and frightful in its wrath.  It was a man in everything but size and yet this similarity to a man made it seem all the more alien to Lugh.  The skin, that had been grey and stone like as it rose from the hillock that had covered it, was now pallid white.  Red hair covered its head and a matted beard covered its jaw and chest.  The giant howled its rage in deep booming Rus that Lugh knew from his travels.

“Lugh, when I say so, run down the ramp with me.  Keep your feet as long as you can.  When we hit the soft ground at the base we must roll aside.  Do you understand?  Oatey searched his eyes and seemed satisfied with his nod.  “He is hungry, angry, but he begins to speak.  Do you know his words?”

Lugh nodded, “aye, yes, tis Rus.  He spouts threats and dark promises.”

“Yes, he is human now, no longer stone.  His wits are returning, but we must catch him in his rage.  Lugh, you must wait with me until I go, else he may realize the trap.  But now he is flesh and we can kill him easily.”

“Oh gods, how can you say easy?”

The giant held in two huge hands an uprooted tree.  Most of the branches were torn free and the man thing swung it like a maul with the remains of the root ball, the head of it.  With one wild swing he shattered the bonfire, sending its parts across the clearing.  Then his eyes fell on the pair.  His howl convinced Lugh all the more that this thing was no human.

Oatey’s grasp caused pain, “Wait!” she commanded as the giant charged howling its rage.  The giant swung its tree-club into the air and pounded toward them impossibly fast.  Its strides ate up the intervening ground and Lugh’s blood ran cold.  “Come,” Oatey said and dragged him after.

The track was steep but he had almost made it to the base when he tripped and began to roll.  Oatey was already down and rolling toward what Lugh hoped was a soft landing.  The impact was was jarring, stunned he tried to figure out which way to roll. 

Oatey yelled, “Quickly here.”  He scrambled after and was stunned again as he was thrown aside by opening gates buried in the ground.  He lay looking up the slope horrified to see the giant stumble and fall. 

The tree bound pikes were swinging into position to meet it.  Armored men, with copper axes, were boiling out from cover around them.  The huge man was pierced shoulder, chest, and gut, but his weight could not be stopped.  The pikes shattered, and the creature turned as it fell.  Lugh feared he might be crushed, but he was far enough away as the thing went behind the huge doors onto which he and Oatey had fallen.

He looked around for her.  Trying to gather himself he clambered to his feet searching for her.  She was gone.  Armed and armored men were rushing into the defile where the body of the giant had fallen, surely dead with the wounds.  He followed expecting that he might find the girl at the center of mayhem.

As he rounded the door, following in the wake of the axe men.  He caught a glimpse of the man-thing impaled among a forest of copper clad and barbed spikes.  “Easy she’d said, what creature had a chance against her?” he had the chance to think.  The axe men were pushing through the spikes from all sides now.  Lugh couldn’t understand the urgency.

Suddenly, the thing moved, pinned as it was through almost every part of its body, the movements were slight and somewhat aimless.  A big six-fingered hand rose near Lugh, but only just off the ground as the arm was pierced with many barbed spikes.  It smashed down and the arm strained against the piercings.  “I’ll eat you all, damn bugs.  You’ll pay!”  The thing howled its protest.  The giant’s face turned to Lugh and its one undamaged eye focused on him.  “I’ll pop you like a maggot too Gael boy!”

“The head! Strike off its head!”  Oatey cried, she was in the thick of it, moving toward the giant’s shoulders.  Lugh saw rage turn to fear on the giants face.  It redoubled its efforts as the Norfolk soldiers clambered onto its back.  Lugh watched as stroke after stroke bit into the thick corded neck of the giant.  Men lost their balance and fell only to rise again and seek to climb up onto the giant.  Lugh marvelled at how much damage it absorbed before it grew still, but even then Oatey harangued and cajoled until the head was completely removed.

A ragged cheer went up and injured axe men began to be tended to.  None of the injuries that Lugh saw seemed severe.  Easy, like she’d said.  Lugh expelled a tension filled breath and went looking for the girl.