Mari and the Mogu

The wizened old Pandaren brought the quill across the page in one final stroke, ending the movement with a flourish as he finished the scroll he was working on. With a satisfied sigh, he set the quill down and removed the weights from the corners of the scroll, picking it up before it began to roll and could smear the ink.

As he turned, he saw a dozen eyes watching him eagerly, and he smiled and rose from his chair, holding the scroll out before him. Pandaren children as well as a few older Pandaren watched him with smiles on their faces, several looking at him expectantly.

"Have you come to hear the first reading then?" the old Pandaren lorewalker asked with a laugh. "Very well then! Sit, please, all of you, and I shall tell you the tale of Mari and the Mogu."

As his audience settled down, the lorewalker brought the scroll up before him, his voice steady as he read from it.

Long ago, our lands were hidden away by the mists, the world itself growing to become but a dim memory as we focused on our own people, our own way of life. Then, after centuries, the mists finally parted, and the outsiders came amongst us. 

The outsiders were of many shapes and sizes, many walks of life. Some were fierce warriors, come to our lands to do battle with one another. Others were healers, teachers, and scholars, come to learn of our lands and culture. Regardless of who or what they were, we opened our doors and our homes to them. We taught them of ourselves, and shared with them our tales of wonder. 

They would pass through our village, always on their way to another place or this or that battle. Always in a hurry, and never tarrying long. It was because of this, and some say because of the arrival of the outsiders, that an ancient evil awoke near this very village. Even as strangers walked amongst us, so too did the Mogu stir, sending their emissaries across all of Pandaria.

Many of the listeners began to boo or hiss at this, and the lorewalker merely laughed and shook his head, "Please! Let me finish! The story has only begun my friends!" The crowd settled and he held the scroll up once more, beginning to read aloud again.

The first we heard of the Mogu was when the terrible warriors surrounded our dwelling. Made of terracotta, they were things of legend. Earth and clay given life by stolen spirits and forced to obey the Mogu beyond death itself. They terrified us, their silent, grim faces promising doom to any who dared to disobey. The Mogu who lead them was a fierce warlord, and had his own mystical adviser with him as he stood on a rise overlooking our humble village, loudly proclaiming his lordship over us. He would make us serve, and thus we were his vassals.

Long did we tarry for him, gathering gold and food, knowing all the while that his silent warriors waited for us in the forests just beyond our homes if we dared to disobey. He grew rich and fat while we grew thin and hungry. The outsiders still came to our village now and then, but now we hid away from them, our doors barred until they left; for what would the Mogu do to them if he found them? They would be slain, and it would have been our hospitality that killed them.

This all changed on the night when Mari came to us. Months had passed, and many had begun to despair at our fate. It was late in the day when she arrived, and as was our habit we scrambled to bar our doors and shutter our windows for fear that she would stay.

She was an oddity, even amongst the outsiders, with hooves instead of feet and horns on her head. We would have thought her a demon, if not for her merry greetings as she knocked on each door, looking for someone, anyone to come and talk to her. We dared not, for her fate would be terrible if she stayed.

She was not discouraged, this sprite from the world beyond. Instead of leaving, she decided that we were simply all not home at the same time, and sat in the center of our village. She built a little cooking fire, and sang a song to herself in a language none of us knew. We dared not leave our homes, yet dread grew in our hearts as we heard her merry song, knowing that she was in grave danger.

By the time we gathered the courage to act, it was too late. The ground thundered with the sound of terracotta warriors as they marched into the village, more than a dozen of them surrounded the creature, weapons raised. We peered through cracks in our barricades, watching in horror at what our fear had wrought.

"Surrender to us, and become a slave!" the warriors shouted!

"Are being made of earth!" the hapless creature replied with a smile.

"You will die a thousand deaths this night!" the warriors roared, all charging her at once.

Our eyes closed, our hearts heavy as they converged on her. And then, they simply fell apart, their terracotta bodies cracking as they dissolved, leaving nothing more than a pile of earth where they had stood. In the air their spirits danced, free at last from their master's grasp, and with a great sigh and a pulsing light they were gone.

Our hearts grew light, this outsider had destroyed the warriors somehow! Our windows opened and our doors were unbarred, our village pouring out with great cheering amongst us. And the creature, Mariskka she called herself, simply smiled and laughed and celebrated with us, even though she did not know our cause for joy. She said she was a Draenei, a being from far away and long ago, and we cared not about such details for the moment because she had saved us.

A feast was declared, and all the village began to prepare, Mari's little cooking fire becoming a larger community effort. Ale barrels were tapped, and our finest foods that we had hidden from our Mogu tormentor were taken out and soon the entire village smelled of delicious food and echoed with joyous laughter.

Those listening to the story cheered at this, and the lorewalker chuckled lightly to himself before he continued reading.

But our joy was not to last, for the Mogu's mystic soon was spotted at the edge of the village, making his way towards our feasting. Lightning flashed in his hands and in the air around him, and all in the village drew back, terrified once more. He approached our honored guest, pointing at her and yelling loudly, "You will pay for defying the master!"

Our brave, sweet champion waggled her finger at him, scolding him as she spoke, "Lightning is being dangerous! Being more careful please! Vill be hitting people vith that!"

The mystic's eyes widened, rage claiming him as was the habit of the Mogu. He waved his hands in the air, chanting and shouting, lightning building all around him. Mari, whom some now call Mari the Brave, stood calmly near the fire, her wrist moving as she dropped a small stone on the ground.

Lightning forked from the hands of the mystic, and we all cried out in despair for our poor champion. And yet, when we dared open our eyes, she stood unharmed, the little stone she had dropped having caught the lightning. She bent down, picking it up as if the check on the lightning before tucking it away and shaking her head. She reached into her pouch again, digging for another stone and accidentally dropping one with an 'Oops!'.

The mystic stormed towards her, his eyes blazing with fury as he snatched up the little stone she had dropped. She shook her head and said, "Do not be touching! Vas not meaning to drop that!"

The mystic laughed, greed in his voice as he sneered at her, "This is mine now. Your power is mine and you will suffer at my hands!"

He held the stone out before him, and it glowed, air gushing through it as it sparkled with lightning. He opened his mouth to speak again, and the little stone exploded, blackening his cloths and burning his flesh. He opened his eyes, soot staining him and little fires dancing on his robes before tumbling backwards. When he landed, his breath left him in a puff of smoke.

"Am being sorry!" Mari the Brave replied. "Vas being, how you say, not right one!"

Again the village cheered, our people collecting the mystic and carrying him out into the forest where we left him to sleep off the effects of the explosion. More food was brought forth, and more beer until it was set to be a feast the likes of which we had never seen.

It was then that the Mogu himself came, his thunderous tread announcing his presence ahead of his arrival. We cowered before him as he towered over us, lightning flashing in his eyes, "I am the emissary of the Thunder King. I am one of His chosen ones, and you are slaves to His will. How dare you defy me? How dare you think to hide from Him your riches?"

Fear filled the air, our people once again knowing the yoke of slavery. Our celebration died in that moment, and all cowered away from the Mogu except our visitor. She merely stood by her fire, watching the delicious food cook and shaking her head, "Am not being slave silly, am being Mariskka! Vas telling others this, but are not listening yes? Are being, how you say, not smart."

The Mogu roared at this, stamping his feet and making the very earth shake. He stormed towards our guest of honor, towering over her and yelling down into her face, "YOU DARE TO SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A WAY? YOU ARE AS AN ANT, AND I WILL CRUSH YOU! THESE LANDS AND ALL THAT ARE IN THEM SERVE THE THUNDER KING, AS WILL YOU PUNY THING! ONCE YOU ARE BROKEN THAT IS!"

And with that, he kicked over the feast, the meat falling into the fire and catching ablaze. Mari the Brave watched it, her mouth open in shock. She looked around, seeing as if for the first time how thin we were, how wretched. That he had destroyed some of our food made a tear glisten in her eye, a single drop falling onto the flame. It sizzled there, water meeting fire, her mourning for us made manifest.

The Mogu opened his mouth to gloat over her sadness, when the fire roared up beside her. It curled in the air, cracking like a thousand storms, forming into a shape that had two arms and a body and a very fearsome face. The cooking fire had become a creature of flame, towering over even the Mogu. It reached out, caressing Mari the Brave's face as if to comfort her, and though it was made of flame, she did not burn but continued to look at us sadly.

The Mogu roared, lightning flying from his hands and striking the flames. But lightning does little to fire, and the creature turned its attention from trying to comfort our dear friend Mari to the Mogu that was trying to destroy it. It roared higher, flames as bright as daylight before it crashed down upon the Mogu.

In a moment it was over, the creature burned away to nothing, the flames receding again and once more becoming a cooking fire. Mari the Brave stood beside it, looking at us sadly even as we stared in awe at the burned spot on the ground where the Mogu had once stood.

And then the cheers brought our guest to life, her smile returning as we crowded around her in celebration. In that moment, her sorrow for us was forgotten, and our preparations for our feast resumed. She had freed us from the Mogu, and for that we would throw her the largest banquet the town had ever seen, our hunger sated at last, and our fears conquered.

The lorewalker smiled, lowering the scroll as those listening applauded. He began to carefully roll it up, preserving it as a history record for his town. He had embellished the tale a bit, but it was true enough, and though he was old he could not recount a time when he had been happier, and it was all thanks to their friend, Mari the Brave, whom he had immortalized in his tale.