Language of Violence

What was intended to be a night of going to the Darkmoon Faire turned into something ... entirely different. Qiao and I were on the bridge in Mulgore, not far from the Darkmoon Gate when the warrior that was so disruptive after the Story Circle showed up, Baahl Bloodborn. The same cretin who slandered Taurajo, but now he used it as the crux from which he crowed his hatred of the Alliance and reveled in the bloodshed. He and I were not so very different once, though I was not filled with near so much rage and hatred. Mine was more grief and emptiness.
 
As he spoke of his tribe, the Thunderhorn of Taurajo, I remembered them. They were a good, solid people; their shaman often calling the rains to water our crops, their warriors part of the many Braves that guarded the village. I gave him an earful about how he was disrespecting Taurajo, his tribe, his family with his bloodthirsty nature, the way he repudiated all of them, to say nothing of his own people, calling us tree-hugging pacifists.
 
Eventually, I lost my anger and I told him that he could change his name, change his warpaint, but he would always be Last Son of the Thunderborn. I entreated him to let me help him, I could ask Hurskan to do another Calling ceremony much as he had done for me. Baahl could speak to his own tribe, hear their words and their thoughts, and perhaps be steered away from this path of brutality he has chosen. There were times I saw the hateful, rage-filled facade he maintains crack just the tiniest fraction. I saw sympathy, grief, longing, loneliness all hidden behind those baleful eyes. I know there is a chance that he can be brought back to his people, to his tribe, or barring that at least to turn his warmongering ways to better efforts than throwing himself at the Alliance.
 
Poor Qiao had to listen to all of this for sometime, Baahl and I going back and forth. Eventually, though, to my surprise she joined in too and began dressing this warrior down for his wicked ways and his support of Garrosh and the "True Horde". At some point, Forgemaster Aurok was there too, dispensing his wisdom much as he does with me. However, Aurok could not remain, as Chieftain of his tribe he was needed elsewhere. But Qiao continued to do fierce verbal battle with this warrior. On and on this warrior went, decrying anyone not bloodthirsty for the Alliance as sheep and weaklings. He said that we needed to respect him. I had enough of him at that point.
 
So, I marched right up to him and I challenged him a duel. He could name the time and place and we would see who ended up respecting whom. He accepted and went on his way. I am not sure if he was dumbfounded or pleased. It mattered little. If violence was the only language he spoke, then that is how I would get him to listen.
 
Qiao seemed surprised by this, but was confident that I could win the day. There is really no choice in the matter. Losing was not an option. Qiao actually seemed excited at the prospect of seeing me fight, eager to learn and see what my fighting style was like. It made me laugh. We spoke for a while as Qiao tended to my bruised hand, soothing some of the pain with her frost aura. But my time with her was destined to be brief with the altercation with Baahl. I needed to be up early to travel to Duskwood in the morning. Even with the gala upcoming, work at Brighthall does not cease. I will miss the comfort of my friends after the past day or two. It has been nice not to think and worry myself to a frazzle over the Syndicate and spend the lion's share of my time answering question after question or sometimes having none at all to give, explaining and re-explaining and explaining it all again, over and over and over. I am grateful to whatever prayer of mine An'she answered that made them stop. I am not sure I could take much more.
 
Still, there is work to be done and there is no rest for the weary. I have had my respite so now it is once more back into the fray.