Guildie Guest Lacrox - Birth of the Mooriachi
Well hello, my name is Lacrox, you may have heard of me, I am known in many lands, by many names. To the Frostwolves and Navimie; I am Lacrox the Dragonpuncher, to the Sin’dorei, Paigan Wyrm-Slayer, to the Murlocs of Northrend; Mrrgggmmmggrrrllll and to the Dragons who plague our world, I am Death. However it was not always this way, join me by the fire and I will tell you a tale.
Long ago, before the land was Sundered, before the Lich King unleashed his Wrath, and even before the Dark Portal was reopened, back when I was but a calf, I travelled with my Mama and Papa across the vast landscapes of Kalimdor as they spread the oft-forgotten Tauren art of Mooriachi. My Father and Mother would play the most beautiful of music to the tired warriors of the Horde (and Alliance that would care to listen). My Papa would often tell me that music was the only way the races of the world would unite, Trolls, Orcs, Humans, Dwarves, they would all gather around the fire in the Inn and listen to my Papa strum his old guitar and my Mama blow into her magical trumpet and for awhile there would be no fighting, only peace. I would learn later that it wasn’t adoration the crowds heaped upon them, but confusion as to why two cow monsters were wearing silly hats and playing bizarre music, but none the less it brought peace to everywhere we travelled. After playing at an Inn in Tanaris for a few weeks, the Goblin owner came to my parents and practically begged them to take the act to his Brothers Inn deep in the jungles of Un’Goro. My Parents, never ones to turn down an invitation, immediately packed our bags and we set off, I remember looking back and seeing the Goblin cheering, he was clearly happy to help us spread our gift.
Un’Goro was unsettling to my younger self, I had never seen trees so tall or insects so large, but my Papa assured me “Anyone who lives in this dark place needs our music more than we can imagine”. We moved slowly through the deep bush, avoiding the large lizards and terrifying plants, past the gigantic volcano and the towering tar monsters. Hours turned to days, days to weeks, we eventually had to set up a camp near a pile of large bones. The tent was comfortable enough and eventually became Home, my Mama would venture out in search of the Inn and Food once a day, this was difficult as my Mother was a vegetarian and would often bring back wounded birds and lizards, my Papa would stay in Camp teaching me the ways of Mooriachi and different ways to get free drinks at bars. We lived a peaceful life, until one day we heard my Mama call for help “ANTONIO, I found a Turtle!” my Mother yelled out, Father placed his hat on my head and told me to be brave and that he would be back in a minute, he strapped his guitar to his back and ran out of the tent. Within moments the ground shook violently, again and again, I heard a deafening roar, the sounds of a desperate battle and a blood curdling Moo, then silence. I grabbed my wooden sword ready to face this threat and help my parents, I jumped as a small turtle limped through the tent opening. I examined him for a second to see if he was the cause of all the horrific noises outside, his leg was wrapped in my Mother’s scarf, the danger was still waiting for me. I scooped my scared turtle friend into my arms and charged out of the tent, wooden sword in one hand, turtle in the other! Suddenly, I was face-to-face with a beast of nightmare, I will never forget it’s dull orange scales, it’s cold dead eyes, its mouth of serrated blood soaked teeth and the stench, that awful stench of a thousand rotten meals. I gulped and swung my tiny sword.
A blinding yellow light engulfed me, I felt warm and safe, “Not today Dragon! You have claimed his parents but this boy and his turtle shall live!” a booming voice cried out, a small green light blended with the yellow and there was another flash. I awoke in a glorious golden and red city, it’s towers spiralled overhead and magic brooms swept the streets. I had heard tales of Silvermoon but never thought I would witness it with my own eyes. I caught only a glimpse of the man that had saved me, he wore brilliant silver armour, his orange hair was dirty but well combed, his shield bearing the seal of the Alliance. “Look after him fellow Paladins, I must return to the battle!” The nearby Elves protested, I assume not wanting to lose such a gallant fighter, but he left, running towards the front gate. I never saw him again, but he had saved me and given me a purpose, become a Paladin like him and slay the Dragon that killed my Parents!
Speedy, my new Turtle companion, and I stayed with the High Elves for a number of years, both because they could not find anyone in the Horde that would take us and the Lich King destroying most of the city made it difficult for us to leave easily. The High Elves were a kind people if somewhat neglectful of me. As I grew I asked the Paladins to train me in their ways, I explained my reasons, I demanded, I pleaded, I begged. Years passed and it wasn’t until the Order become Blood Knights in honour of their fallen comrades that a single Blood Elf by the name of Kar’vi offered to train me. Some say that the Lich King's assault on the city had driven him mad, but he seemed sane enough to me. Sure, he occasionally called me ‘Missy’, referred to my Turtle as ‘Master’ and once tried to milk me, but he trained me when others would not, he took pity on me and taught me as best he could. Many seasons passed and despite protests from the Blood Knight Leaders I took the trials and passed them all, I pledged my oath and became the first Blood Elf Tauren Paladin. I said goodbye to my new family and Speedy and I left soon after to face the monster that robbed me of my parents.
The journey to Un’Goro was a long and dangerous one, I righted wrongs, heard stories and witnessed many things, I became a journeyman hero of the Horde, but through it all one thing carried me, my burning hatred of Dragons and their ilk. Every Dragon I came across I smote with a terrible anger and a furious vengeance, Green, Red, Yellow, Black, Blue…but never an Orange. Every Dragon slain quieted my raging heart for a moment but made me lust for more Dragon blood. As I drew closer and closer to Un’Goro memories of my parents flooded my mind, visions, spectres calling out for vengeance. My rage reached a fever pitch as I carved through the plants that blocked my path. I charged through the boggy forest, no beast or elemental dare look at me for fear of my wrath, Speedy struggled to keep up. It wasn’t till I saw the tattered ruins of an old tent that my rage subsided.
Inside, things were just I had left them, my childhood toys, our old suitcases, our makeshift beds, and most importantly my Father’s old suit bag. Inside I found his Mooriachi outfit, crisp as the day he put it in there, I removed it and placed it on the dusty old sleeping bag he used. Taking off my backpack I shuffled through it’s contents and took his Mooriachi hat out, I brushed it off and despite being inside a pack for so long it maintained it’s shape. The empty costume assembled on the bed stared back at me and I came to a revelation, revenge wasn’t enough, I had to remind the monster of what it had done and who it had wronged. Removing my bulky armour piece by piece I replaced it with the Mooriachi costume, I put on my Papa’s wide brimmed hat, picked up the ornamental sword he used to carry and ventured out of the tent, Speedy in tow.
It didn’t take long to find the great beast; I followed the mountains of bones and the stench of death. The hideous creature was resting on top of chewed carcasses, it stared at me quizzically for just a moment as I crested the hill it was on. It’s orange scales were stained in the blood of the fallen, bite marks, sword scrapes and scratches marked it’s foul hide, it looked older then I remembered but just as ferocious and still glaring at me with those cold dead eyes. Many of the Dragons I had slain had spoken before I ran them through, calling me a foolish mortal or that my death would be at their hands, perhaps this one would be the same, I yelled out “Do you have any final words Dragon!?”, I spat on the ground. The stupid beast merely roared, I looked down at Speedy and nodded, he seemed to understand. I looked up at this thing of my nightmares “DRAGON, My name is Lacrox Whitehorn, you killed my Father and Mother, prepare to die!” and I charged the beast.
Sword met claw, the ground shook, angels cried out and the heavens shattered, or at least that’s how I pictured it happening, in reality I had spent so long killing dragons, fighting evil and training with the best that the beast of my nightmare fell in a matter of seconds before my furious blows. It was a hollow victory, but I realized that my destiny did not lie upon the back of this stupid monster, but in stopping the other monsters that plague our world. From then on, I would be the Paladin saving the Child who had just lost his parents, just as I had so long ago. I returned to our old campsite and left my armour in the tent where my life changed and made two simple headstones, Mama and Papa. I now wander the lands of Azeroth and Beyond, fighting for the innocent, battling injustice and righting the wrongs, always searching for the next great battle! I am the Mooriachi!
About the author: Lacrox is a tauren prot paladin who transferred with us from Khadgar. His goal is to slay every dragon, and he will not rest until Deathwing lies dead at Frostwolves' feet. He has a non-wow blog and podcast Let's Get Ready To Pod, and he is often making videos for film festivals with his real life buddies.