In the adventurer's camp in the Western Plaguelands, Sowema's main source of income comes from sharpening weapons and doing simple repairs. Although he always considered himself a warrior first, few people hired him for such tasks. Given his tough brow and thick fur as a tauren wielding a blade, it would be hard not to view him as a warrior, but somehow, people always overlooked the combat prowess he believed he possessed. Once, a goblin employer was looking for adventurers to protect his caravan, and Sowema recommended himself. The goblin glanced at him, picked his teeth with his right pinky finger, and said, "You're not cut out for it. Move along."
"What does that mean? Don't you need an experienced warrior?" Sowema stepped forward, driving his blade into the dirt. "I can show you what I can do..."
"Even if you were a Blademaster, I wouldn't be interested," the goblin replied. "I'm leaving, step aside."
Sowema pondered what the goblin meant but still moved aside, spreading his legs as he shifted right and then brought them together again. He didn't realize that this reaction itself demonstrated why he failed to capture employers' interest.
As a child, Soelma's village held regular hunting competitions for young taurens. In one such event, Sowema, who had won three consecutive championships, pulled his bow tight and shot at the stag that served as the target. The arrow hit, and the stag's brown-gray fur quivered, its limbs flailed in a panic, and its hind leg tripped over its front leg, causing it to crash to the ground, its eye sockets hitting the grass. Believing he had secured his fourth title, Sowema approached the fallen prey, only to find two arrows in the animal's body. Just then, another contestant came up from the right, claiming he had struck it first.
The judge and spectators gathered around. Sowema examined the arrows. One with white fletching, his own, had penetrated the stag's heart precisely, while the other arrow was lodged between the bones. Even if the other hunter had shot first, by the rules, the one who dealt the fatal blow would be the victor.
The judge stepped forward, examined the situation, and then looked at both contestants. "Who owns the arrow with the white fletching?"
Sowema was about to say "It's mine," but noticed his opponent, a year older tauren with pale fur, was crying. The elder boy, named Himu, had consistently finished last in previous competitions. Sowema understood that even if Himu had indeed struck the fatal blow, the judge wouldn't believe him due to past failures.
Sowema scratched the side of his nose.
"It's Himu's," he said.
The judge narrowed his eyes at Sowema, then pulled out both arrows.
"The winner of this hunt is Himu High Totem."
When Sowema returned home, his father asked, "I heard you lost the hunting competition this time?"
This well-respected, middle-aged tauren, who had served as a guard on Elder's Rise for twenty years, sat on a wooden log chair, his fists resting on his knees. His left eye was a fake one, which didn't move along with his right, always making Sowema feel nervous.
"I lost."
"To whom?"
"Himu High Totem."
"I remember he finished last in the last competition."
"And the one before that, too, Father."
"How did you lose to him?"
Sowema thought for a moment, then told the truth, earning himself a beating. As he blew on his swollen left hand to cool it, his father said, "If you don't want to win, then don't go out there and embarrass yourself."
Those words felt like a strange prophecy, as Sowema never placed well in future hunting competitions. This filled him with a stubborn reverence for that statement, which continued to influence his actions, making him hesitant in his movements without realizing it. By the time he left home, Sowema had accepted that he could never become a tauren like his father, someone who could face the winds of the high plains without blinking. A rebellious urge against those words had driven him to follow the wave of adventurers to the Western Plaguelands, only to discover that his role there was merely to polish sharp weapons.
One afternoon, Windi appeared before him, handing him an object wrapped in coarse cloth shaped like a crescent moon. "Can you sharpen this for me?"
Sowema took it without looking up, unwrapped it, and found a rusty sickle. Although he wondered what an adventurer would do with such a tool, it wasn't his place to ask.
"Four copper coins. Come pick it up tomorrow morning."
"Can it be faster?"
"You in a hurry?"
"I'm heading out to work in the field early tomorrow."
"Come by this afternoon, but it'll cost you an extra copper coin. What's your name? I need to mark your blade. No need for your real name."
"Windi Featherwing."
Sowema was a bit surprised. This didn't seem like a fake name, and few customers were willing to give their real names. What surprised him even more was that Windi then asked:
"What's your name?"
"Me? Sowema." As usual, he left out his surname. Due to the influence of his father and grandfather, he had a well-known family name in Mulgore, but now he would rather it didn't exist.
"I think I've heard of you."
"That's impossible," he said, lowering his head as he rewrapped the sickle and placed it on the wooden rack behind him.
"I remember when I was young, there was a famous kid in a nearby village who won three consecutive hunting competitions. I think his name was the same."
"You must be mistaken." Sowema, with his back to Windi, stared at a dark red stain on the wooden rack. "That wasn't me." He turned around. "Two copper coins as a deposit."
Windi rummaged in her small pouch for a while before finally handing him two mud-covered copper coins. Her fingers were also covered in mud.
"You're an herbalist?" he asked, partly out of curiosity, partly from a sudden desire to keep talking with her.
"Not exactly... but I am looking for a certain herb. The sickle is for clearing rotten branches and leaves in the wild."
"I guessed it might be for that. What kind of herb are you looking for?"
Once again, Windi's reaction caught him off guard. Her eyes brightened, her voice rose, and her unrestrained excitement showed. "A very special herb, hard to explain. Are you interested? I could show you." After a brief pause, she seemed to realize she had overreacted and added, "Ah, I was just speaking casually. I shouldn't bother your work."
Sowema remained silent for a while, long enough for Windi to feel he wasn't interested. But finally, he said, "Alright, let me close up my stall. It's rare to meet a fellow tauren here anyway."
When Windi led Sowema to her tent, he saw the unremarkable grass seeds she had collected. If they were in Mulgore, the plains keepers would probably remove them as harmful weeds that disrupt the natural balance. However, Sowema also noticed their most significant feature at this particular time and place.
"They're all green," he said. "Did you collect them all yourself?"
"Yes. I'm thinking of planting a small patch, but I don't have enough yet. I know what you're thinking. They grew naturally in the plagued soil. Amazing, right?"
Though it sounded intriguing, Sowema, who had never been trained in herbal knowledge, didn't find plants particularly fascinating. As for the Plaguelands themselves, he never gave them much thought either. He had just followed the wave of adventurers to this land. The corruption of the soil, the rampant plague—it didn't concern him much. He was just a blade sharpener, hiding his family name and only worrying about his next meal.
He remained silent, and Windi didn't seem to expect a response. She gazed at the seeds, entranced, as if the rather unimpressive green hues were plucking a string that only she could hear. In their future conversations, Sowema would slowly come to understand why Windi collected and planted these nameless seeds, but from this moment on, he already knew she was different.
Upon reflection, as an adventurer wandering the Plaguelands, both a blade sharpener and a bodyguard were simply finding their own way to make a living, differing only in their trades. But Windi was searching for something else.
At first, he felt ashamed, even a bit lost. But eventually, he wanted to help her.