Half-Burnt Scroll

The Sun had finally set on the blue lands of Moonwhisper Coast. With nightfall, its usual shepherd did not gaze upon the land. The Moon was nowhere to be seen. And yet, that was not the sole surprise, for even the youngest of the siblings, the Blue Child, was also missing. An ill sign for the children of the Earth. A superstitious folk, the Tauren believed this to be an omen of immediate chaos. Ruckus could be heard from Moonhoof Village. The celestials were missing, and so was the Elder Chieftain. Beyond their desperation, the old chieftain slowly tapped his mighty hooves on the blue grass, leaving crescent moons in the mud with each step. He approached the dreaded Grove in solemn silence.

He carried no torch, no weapon. His white fur, pale as freshly fallen snow, glimmered faintly beneath the stars. The only garment upon him was a simple kilt. His brown mane shimmered gold beneath the night as orbs of light encircled his rugged frame. Fireflies eagerly danced about him, guiding his movements through the darkness. As he pressed deeper into the Grove, he felt the gaze of the trees heavy upon the back of his neck. He was being watched. The branches stretched toward him with disdain, with unease even, yet they shrank back at once when they felt the heat of the living flame within him.

With a huff and a puff, the old Tauren finally halted. “You drink alone tonight,” he muttered, his gaze fixed upon the figure seated at a rough-hewn wooden table, sipping from a cup. Moths drifted toward him, abandoning the other Tauren’s shadow to seek the light of his fireflies. He smiled faintly, exhaling through his nose with a sound like a scoff. “You walk my Grove as though you own it, elder brother,” came a voice from behind the empty cup. A pale hand reached for the pitcher, seeking a refill.

“You still call me brother. Odd,” the old chieftain said. “Yet here you are, far from your duties, forsaking that which gave you life. You parade yourself amidst the children of chaos and bend the children of the Earth to that chaos as well.” His frown deepened, arms folding across his chest. He looked every bit the elder sibling there to discipline the younger. “Is it so strange? You came here to scold me, playing the role of my elder brother. I may as well grant you the satisfaction. You know well how I love theatrics.”

This Tauren’s fur was pale as well, but it bore the pallor of death rather than the pallor of snow. His eyes glimmered the same blue as the younger Moon. Despite his mockery, there was amusement in his gaze. “Enough quarreling, elder. Join me for a glass.” He raised his cup. “Mm. Have your servants abandoned you to your own drunken ruin?” Moonhoof asked as he approached. “I dismissed them. They could not bear the sight of your holiness.” “Enough games, brother. You know why I am here.” The elder sat beside him.

Mothshroud sighed heavily. “And what, pray tell, would that be?” Moonhoof’s jaw tightened. “Let us begin with the fact that you are possessing that poor soul’s body.” “As if you are any better. What should your actions be named, then? A blessing? A gift bestowed by the mighty, the shining…” “Enough. This one prayed for it.” Moonhoof’s brow furrowed. “So did this one,” Mothshroud said, arching a brow. “Which is precisely the problem, sibling. Why give solace to these chaotic souls? You walk among them as though they were your own. They wish for nothing but ruin. You even took in the wretched satyr. They… they are part of the reason she—” He faltered, his voice breaking.

“You cannot lay that blame at my feet. Her actions were hers alone.” “But you were meant to bring hope!” Moonhoof rose sharply, his hands clasping the back of his head in anguish. “And I still do, even among your chosen,” Mothshroud said, sipping his cup. “But I was born of pain. You know that whatever you both tried to weave could not last. I do not command them. They will follow their own will. Unlike our sibling, who basks in the adoration of the Night’s children, I walk openly among mine. We are all seen here.” “You fool. Is it jealousy that drives you?”

“Must you think so little of me, elder brother? No, I am not jealous. She may keep her pets. I have my own followers, and I will grant them precisely what they desire: hope or despair, order or chaos. And if you have come to stop me, may the stronger will prevail.” He drained his glass. “Now leave my Grove and never return. We were never meant to meet upon these lands.” “You are making a grave mistake, sibling. The Earth will mourn your choice, and I will not stand idle. My followers will have my blessings, and when they rise to trample yours, remember: this was your doing.” Moonhoof began to stamp the earth once more, leaving a crescent moon mark with each step.

“Always the self-appointed justiciar,” Mothshroud hissed, shattering the cup in his hand. “So be it. War it is.” As Mothshroud turned away, he stalked the Grove, leaving strange marks behind him. Before vanishing into the dark, he cast his gaze skyward and saw that the Moon had returned. Yet as its light bathed the land, another presence emerged beside it: the Blue Child, restored, but changed. Cold and distant, he drifted away from his elder, as though seeking to escape.

What this foretold for the children of the Earth, for Moonwhisper Coast, none could say. But the omens were dire, for kin now stood upon paths that would cross beneath the silent gaze of the Earthmother, and the blue grass would soon drink the blood of those they once held dear.