The Adventures of Bofain, son of Farar

Denne fortælling blev til i 2010, da jeg deltog i Blizzard's fan fiction contest. Et af kravene var, at historien skulle finde sted i et Blizzard-miljø, altså Diablo, Warcraft eller Starcraft. Jeg valgte Warcraft med udgangspunkt i den forestående udvidelse til World of Warcraft hvor der blev introduceret nye race/class-kombinationer. Hovedpersonen er derfor min fortolkning af hvordan dværge nu kunne blive shamaner.

This tale was created in 2010 when I participated in the Blizzard fan fiction contest. One of the regulations were that the story had to take place in a Blizzard inspired environment - Diablo, Warcraft or Starcraft. I chose Warcraft, inspired by the upcoming expansion for World of Warcraft where new race/class combinations were introduced. Consequently the main character is my interpretation of how dwarves can now become shamans.


4. I have been awaiting your arrival, Shaman. You come seeking wisdom, and something else I sense


I have been awaiting your arrival, Shaman. You come seeking wisdom, and something else I sense.

A few days had passed and Bofain’s hangover had almost gone. It was getting late and Olric had already gone to bed.

Another dream came, but this was different. Bofain found himself standing on a mountaintop in a place he had never seen before. There was a simple altar, but otherwise the place was empty. He couldn’t see very far because of a heavy fog, but suddenly a woman appeared before him. This was no regular woman though. He had seen humans and gnomes and had intimate knowledge of the dwarven women, but this was different. Blue skin, horns and hooves, yet a face so delicate and warm, his heart started to ache. Her fingers looked nimble and she moved with a grace beyond comparison. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a tail, but then she started to speak. She had a soft, yet powerful voice, which echoed in his very soul.

“You are Bofain, the ancient one. Your name resonates in the deepest of seas, highest of skies, hottest of fires and heaviest of rocks. They call to you and your soul calls to them. You are their future as they are yours; they need you as you need them.”

Bofain did not understand what she meant. He wanted to ask, but he was unable to speak.

“My name is Masalai and I have been chosen to show you your true nature. But in order to do so, you must stay. Stay and you shall be found; leave and you will be lost.”

Bofain was even more befuddled now than he was before. What did this mean? His true nature was to stay at home with Olric and Farar, train hard to become like his father and maybe some day work side by side with him. But as soon as he thought of his father, a crackling explosion tore up the sky. The clouds started falling, mountains came loose floating in the air, water started burning and fire fell from the sky. A shadow appeared behind Masalai. Paralyzed and speechless, Bofain could only watch as a dagger pierced her chest, distorting her face in pain. She vaporized and out of the mist came Thri.

“Bofain, your father is in danger. Just before we were to anchor in Valgarde, pirates attacked our ship. I was able to escape, but your father was taken north. You must come and rescue him.”

Thri vanished and Olric who stood above him shaking his shoulders pulled Bofain out of his dream.

“Wake up Bofain, ye’re screamin’ worse than a siren with a cold!” Olric yelled with a sleepy voice.

“We have to go find father, he’s in danger,” Bofain muttered. He immediately got up and started packing.

“Now wait just a minute, what’re ye talkin’ about?” Olric gasped with surprise. “Farar has only been gone a week at most, why d’ya think he’s in danger?

Bofain looked at Olric with a grim face and told him the story about his dream. At first Olric protested and objected, offered to go to the tavern and calm down over an ale, but as the night progressed he became aware that Bofain was serious. So instead of fighting, they gathered provision, their weapons and backpacks and started their journey to Northrend in pursuit of their father.

The next morning they hired a gryphon to Menethil Harbor where they found a ship bound for Northrend. Both of the dwarves were used to the heights of Dun Morogh, so the warmer climate in the Wetlands seemed like a stifling heat. While they sat on the pier waiting for their ship to get ready, the air was thick with rain and they listened to the monotonous sounds of raindrops hitting the planks, grass and leaves. Clouds covered the sun and this was indeed a dreary day. Bofain fiddled with the rock that his father had given him before he took off. It felt both cold and warm in his hands, but the softness and the shape kept his mind still. Nonetheless, he could not stop thinking about the strange woman in his dreams and the fact that he could actually remember her. This dream was unlike any other dream. It would not go away.

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