Packhunter, how I know him (RP)

[Packhunter]

<<Author's note: I've never lied I used to be on RP realms, and yes I did stories, and yes I clearly kept them on file. I figured why not share one or two, since I do have a tradition (Personal as it is) to do one before an XP. Missed it with WOD, hope to redo it with Legion, and hope you enjoy the story. On a timeline note this was written during WOTLK>>

Packhunter, how I know him
By: Redwing, Air Commander

You know they say you measure a man by his friends, his enemies, and somewhere between those two points you find the man. Interesting thing is, nobody ever considers the mounts. How we’re the ones stuck with these guys day in, day out, in good times, and in bad ones. I really should introduce myself.

I was not the first mount Packhunter bought, or the last. However, over the last few years I am the one he has come to depend on the most. I’ve seen him once though the “reality shifter” as he calls it, and the ram and the horse refuses to talk about where Packhunter originated from. The horse, I don’t understand, the goat, well it fits his personality. Still, where was I?

Yes, I am Redwing, brother of Golden One, part of a clutch of 4 eggs, and when the gateway to Outlands opened up, I was brought there with my older brother for training as personal mounts. Leaving behind Mom, Pop, and my little sister were hard. However, what could I do, I was an adolescent Gryphon, and the adventurers were paying enough gold for our dwarven handlers to train the next generation to server as personal mounts over working for the public.
As hard as it was to leave the family behind, I had Golden One; well that’s his public name now. I doubt as a reader you’d be able to read what his Gryphon name is. While in the storm ridden region of Outlands known as the Shadow Moon Valley, I remember the intense training we all underwent. Strange thing, I was always considered the weak chick, and yet somehow I am the one who was breaking speed records as different gryphons tested out.

For all the comments about Golden One being slow, never say he lacks heart. Day in and day out from training even as he kept testing out near the bottom he kept trying to rise above the standard he seemed doom to be in. It was after another day of hard training, the kind of day where you want a slab of steak and forget you ever went into the sky that I thought I lost my brother.

I was resting in my stall when I heard the beating of hooves on the rock hard ground. Being one of the friendly places for rest I half figured it was some lost traveler looking to make use of the Inn. Then I knew there was a difference. The dwarves were excited, I remember seeing one of them break out a casket of something called Ale, and the drink flowed from the casket to welcome the traveler. With a sole hand movement the plated being declined the drink, saying something about a hard road ahead.

Like death itself, this being walked down the stalls looking at different mounts, evaluating them and casting them aside. Stopping for a moment, took a long look at Golden One, before withdrawing a sack of something from his side and handing it to the dwarves. I was half convinced that I was seeing my brother for the last time and as much as I wanted to stop it. I couldn’t, us gryphon’s on the “advanced” program were usually beat by the time we made it back to the stalls for the night.

As the months wore on, I tried to forget about Golden One, and about the plated man who had stolen the last bit of my family, of my connections to home! It was two to three months later I graduated myself from the program. I hadn’t even been assigned my colors when I heard a familiar flapping in the air. You have to understand as much as a walk is known to a humanoid, or quadrapped, to gryphon’s a flapping of the wings is as equally easy to read. I knew even then that the dead gryphons don’t fly.

If I though the dwarves drank last time, this time it seemed for everyone present there were two caskets of ale. Someone even fired off something called fireworks into the sky. The recent grads were brought before the being I thought was death. Maybe it was the torch light, maybe it was the fact he seemed semi-healed, but I realized it was a warrior, a human warrior. As we were drilled a dwarf blew a whistle and my fifteen grads and myself marched forward in a perfect square. It was then that the warrior blew a horn on his side, “Golden One, Death Charger, to me!”

My brother and this old scared Battle Ram were as his side, bringing them close, in a bear hug I heard him tell them both. “We need but one of the sixteen. As much as I am paying for it, you both must sense who you believe will serve with us well. We are a team, we are a family!”

If I ever sweated, it was then. I watched as my brother took one side and the ram the other, with the warrior watching it like a master. The ram seemed to be the true leader in this chain of command, as bro was relaxed. One of my classmates made a mistake of looking the ram in the eye for over a minute, convinced he could earn the respect of it. It was his mistake as the ram head butted it so hard you could hear the wings break all around the compound. With barely an arm jester an entire row was removed. It was then that Golden One spotted me, and despite the months apart, he recognized me. Leaping into the air, he started to squawk above me, trying to get the warrior’s attention. Family, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

Another hand movement from the warrior, and I heard the ram cut though the pack and start to inspect me. Until the end of my days I’ll never forget those purple eyes. The way they seemed to cut me to ribbons and rebuild me inside a moment, and how it kept happening. I mean common, if you liked my brother, why not like me? Well it seemed it wasn’t enough that I was family to Horns! He then charged me, and I did what any smart gryphon would do, I took to the air before diving down ready to grab old wool hide and haul him to the nearest cliff and have a chat!
I must’ve done something right, since Packhunter came charging in a tackle on the ram, and said, “That’s enough, he has the speed we need, and the brains to go with it! “

Old Horns snorted defiantly ready to charge Packhunter, but Horns knew his place it seemed. In retrospect maybe the reason Horns was pissed due to his pending retirement as primary mount. Besides, I suspected Horns would get another at being the main mount, but at the time it wasn’t my fault. As gold changed hands I was surprised to be lead to a shipping cage, and to be fed. I had passed the test, why was I being treated like bulk cargo!

Much to my surprise the food they fed me was drugged with some sleeping agent. To my surprise with the coming dawn I found the bars up, and I knew I was in a different land. There I saw Packhunter, dressed like a civilian. Holding strips of beef, he lead me out of the cage until I saw the cliff we were on, and he welcomed me to the world telling me of our joint mission, to boldly go where no man had gone before, and to defend the Alliance at all costs. Giving a caw in approval he mounted me, unknown to me, while I had been shipped the dwarves handlers had given me my armor, and at Packhunter’s request placed the logo of Packhunter Enterprises on the sides. Mind you, I doubt anyone would ever confuse me with another mount of my caliber, how many of them respond to whistle commands?

There is my tale, and I’ve told true. To get to the heart of the matter, I’ve known Packhunter for a long time now, and I can promise you this. In some ways he’s still the Sultan of death I knew when he took my brother from me. In other ways Packhunter has changed. Don’t get me wrong, Packhunter will never admit he’s changed. Frankly the man hated tanking with a passion, he’d rather be told to beat someone to a bloody pulp, than tell people who to hit when, or to tell them this group isn’t going to work, which is ironic since his communications crystal has blown up more than once due to his addition to it that blocks more people than the crystal normally can.

Packhunter is a warrior to the core, with all the flaws that come with it. It’s hard to earn his praise, heck I’ve been flying him for years and he’s still looking for a way to go faster. To become a true friend of Packhunter you need to find a way past that ever vigilant scan of him seeking if a person can work with him. To those who break his rules, I feel sorry for, since I know Packhunter well enough to know an axiom of his, “Those who forget the past, are doomed to repeat it”, and I have a hunch somewhere along the line Packhunter got burned by the practices he now looks down on.

In many ways Packhunter is like a force of nature, and like nature he does crazy things. I mean do you know how many times the man jumps off my back and into a body water just to grab a mineral node before someone else does? What drives Packhunter? I mean the man isn’t getting any younger, but no one has been stupid enough to tell him it’s time to retire. Knowledge, wants Packhunter to more of it. Offer him knowledge. Remember that saying I mentioned before? Another saying that defines Packhunter is, “Information is Ammunition.” Except I suspect in the warrior’s case its Blacksmithing patterns, I’ve seen him spend weeks trying to find one pattern, blow small mountains of gold to buy them, and knowing even as he learns them, that he might never produce the item.

In some ways Packhunter’s age remain a point of contention with him, and another reason he’s not likely to retire. He’s like a mountain, he was forged by circumstances outside his controls. He went to war to stop one foe, and awoke to find all he faugh for was gone. Instead he found the forces of the enemies accepted as refugees. What happens to Packhunter if the Lich King is defeated? Does that mean his journey is at an end? Does he try to find a woman, start a family? I’d like to think so, but despite him being ancient by the terms of man, maybe he’s due for a greater fate than what anyone can see?

The hour draws late, and there is a stiff wind coming in from Icecrown, and I can hear the whistle calling to me. Knowing my master he’s covered in another beast’s blood, and won’t bother to clean himself. I am Red Wing, loyal mount to Marshal Packhunter. I suspect he will always hunt, either the people he considers less than deserving his respect, or to protect those same people. Horns and I represent two sides of him few see. When was the last time anyone said Packhunter wasn’t stubborn? As per myself, I am always looking for the undiscovered country. To anyone who reads tale, I wish you well.

[Skeletor]

solid post pack you have skill my friend

--skeletor--