This article is fan fiction The contents herein are entirely player made and in no way represent official World of Warcraft lore or history. The characters, places, and events listed are of an independent nature and are applied for roleplaying purposes only.

It is a cold, dark night in the forests of Ashenvale. The moon is high and you can barely see its bright rays through the thick layer of leaves above your head. Every so often you hear a rustle in a nearby bush, but the forest is so full of creatures that it could be anything from a wolf to a squirrel. Rather than worry, you sit and listen.

You, and a group of like-minded adventurers, sit around a small camp fire roasting what little meat you caught in between your questing today. It was a good day of questing, not so good a day of hunting. The fire crackles quietly and snaps suddenly as another pocket of air inside the wood is breached.

One of the members of your group is talking. She hasn’t said much today; all day she had given off an aura that left you feeling like you had best leave her alone. But now that the sun has gone down and the shadows are out in force, the mood seems right for her to finally speak.

“My name is Khandivya, and I have a story to tell you.”

She stops and looks into the fire. You are tired from your long day, and are happy to let her pause as she will.

“Have you ever heard The Legend…of Spartan?”

She stops again and looks at each of you in turn. No one says anything; her gaze is enough to stop you before you can respond.

“It was many moons ago that I ran into the Hero they called Spartan. My husband and I were in the Blasted Lands, searching for a daemon that had gone unpunished for too long. He and I had tracked down each of his minions in turn and destroyed them, and now it was time for the final battle.

“We rode up to the mountain that we had heard from a couple gnomes was the lair of this awful creature. There was no way up, but so arrogant was the daemon that he had put a teleportation spell near the base of the mountain so that foolhardy adventurers could get to his lofty home. We had heard stories of other Horde, and even Alliance, who had gone to kill him, but no stories of them ever coming back.

“We stepped into the teleporting zone and moments later were high atop the mountain, staring at the daemon in his home. He saw us and a massive and terrible grin spread across his face; we knew he was looking forward to killing us, we just hoped that he wouldn’t have the pleasure.

“I ran forward, as did my husbands’ cat, hoping to catch the daemon off-guard by our aggressiveness while my husband fired at it from afar with his gun. But it was no use; the daemon was stronger than anything we had faced, together or apart. He waved his arm and swatted me away as if I was nothing. I landed, hard, on the ground where I had started. But I kept sliding along, so great was my momentum. I reached the edge of the plateau and tried to get a grip on something, anything to keep from falling, but all I could hold onto was loose gravel and stones. I fell to the base of the mountain and lay there for a long time, broken and bleeding, unconscious.

“I found out after the fact that upon seeing me fall, my husband had instructed his cat to hold the daemon at bay while he found a safer router down the mountain. Through a series of smaller jumps he made it to the base and found me lying there. For several days he nursed me back to health; he was no priest, but he had some skill with bandages and potions.

“On the third day of my consciousness and slow recovery, we heard the heavy footsteps of a kodo riding across the ruddish gravel plain. Moments later, out of the fog of dust, rode a mighty tauren warrior atop the finest looking kodo I have ever seen. His armour seemed to shine even in the shadow of this mountain surrounded by dust and dirt. He stopped, and said his name was Spartan.”

Khandivya pauses once again, in the manner of all good storytellers, and looks at each person around the fire. She seems to look at you the longest, but perhaps it is just your imagination. Your attention is broken for a moment and you look around at the rapt faces of your peers, lost in the tale. She takes a sip from the tepid water that you are all drinking and continues speaking.

“He asked what we were doing here, at the base of this cursed mountain, and we told him. He laughed, as only a Hero can at the face of pure danger, and told us that he would help us our foolish quest.

“I knew something momentous was happening in front of me, but at the time I could not speak for what it was. All I know is that I suddenly felt renewed, like the fire of the pain in my body subsided for a moment and I stood up, ready to fight once again.

“He told us to wait there, at the base of the mountain and that he would bring the daemon to us. We both nodded sagely, as if we had a clue what he was talking about, thinking that he must have been insane or drunk or both. You see, neither of us had heard this tale yet because it was still being created, and so we didn’t know about his incredible prowess.

“He stepped onto the teleportation spell and was gone. My husband and I waited for a long while at the base of that mountain, all the time fearing that we had just sent another poor being to die in that creatures lair.

“But moments after we both decided it was time to pack up and go home, to find some more help maybe, or to just retire quietly in the Salty Sailor for a while, he appeared above us. He was yelling at us, telling us to get ready. Behind him, to our surprise, was the daemon, removed from his seat of power, and chasing after the Hero named Spartan.

“Surprised, but not caught completely unawares, we bared our weapons and got ready for the fight. Spartan brought the daemon down to our level of the mountain and stopped moving, facing the hell spawn head on. I charged in, hoping to regain some of the honour I had lost in falling down the mountain. My husband sent his cat in and fired round after round into the body of the unfeeling daemon.

“It turned for a moment, sensing gnat pricks at its back, and once again swatted me and my husbands’ cat away as if it were the easiest thing on Azeroth.

“But Spartan, he stood his ground and found a wall against which he could lean so the daemon couldn’t shove him away. He fought with sword and shield and shining armour. Lying on the ground, defeated, I could see several trickles of blood running out of his armour and onto the ground around him; could he survive the battle? Could he actually defeat the daemon Razelikh, which had beaten countless adventurers before?

“The battle unfolded before my helpless eyes. My husband was still firing away, hoping to do some damage to the horrible monster. But Spartan fought on despite the many wounds I could see accumulating on his battered body. A glistening green slime could be seen spreading across the daemons hellish form. Afterwards I discovered it was blood, but at the time I had no idea.

“The daemon raised it’s powerful claws for another strike, what it hoped would be the last strike, the strike that took down this tiny being and let it get back to it’s perch-top home. But Spartan had one last spark of breath within him, he refused to give up and with the last of his strength he plunged his sword into the chest of the daemon. The creature looked stunned for a moment, and then looked as if it would finish off Spartan regardless.

“Then, miraculously, it fell backwards, dying as I saw briefly a look of fear in Spartan’s helmeted eyes. That look disappeared before I could be certain it had happened, replaced with a smile and cheer that belied the situation. The creature died that day. Spartan was badly wounded, but he laughed off his bodily harm while my husband bandaged him up. He said it was nothing and that he had fought worse before breakfast, nothing in his manner made us believe that we might have just seen him die.”

Khandivya pauses again and drinks from her cup. She swirls the water around in her mouth a moment before finally swallowing, savouring the feeling of the water.

“He rode away that day, while my husband and I were still bandaging our wounds. We didn’t entirely believe what we had seen. A single tauren taking down a creature of that power? No, it couldn’t have happened. I know, I can see on your faces that you don’t believe me. But it is true; my husband saw it as well.

“We saw the Hero Spartan many times after that.”

Khandivya stops again and stares deep into the fire. She waits so long before continuing that you and the other listeners begin to get impatient, believing that she has left her story unfinished. She shakes her head softly and seems to wake up from her reverie.

“…we saw the Hero Spartan many times after that. A great many adventures were had, the likes of which will never be seen in this world again.

“Because one day, Spartan got on top of his mighty kodo and rode off, promising to return one day. We never saw him again, but each member of the White Kodo Clan knows this tale so that his memory may live on.”

She stops and stands up, walking away from the fire towards the bed roll she had set down earlier in the evening. A silence falls over the camp site, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire, with the occasional sudden snap. You feel as though something important has been said here, but you can’t figure out what it is. A breeze blows suddenly through the camp site, causing the fire to flare up briefly and then die down again. You think you see something glittery flow through the air, but it is gone before you can say for certain whether it actually existed or not. All you know is that the magical feeling flows through your body and is replaced with briefly with joy. You and your party members sit by the fire for a long time hoping to capture the moment that has just passed, but eventually it dies down and you all walk to your separate bed rolls and fall asleep, dreaming of glory and a tauren that tickles you as you walk past him.

((Apologies for ruining any previous stories written about this encounter, I think Akuyim has written something about it. Regardless, you can consider this a folk tale that has been ruined by time and replaced with something not entirely true New Smiley.

Spartan, I wish you well; consider this my gift for all of the help you’ve given me over the last year or so.

Constructive criticism is well, but please private message. I’d rather leave this thread empty of any negative discussion.))

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