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Post by Emizael on Nov 4, 2005 12:51:50 GMT -5
(( just because the early stuff looks a bit crappy..I've gone back and edited all of this..both to make it a bit easier to read, and to fix some of the typos that I missed in the beginning.))
4 novembre, Teldrassil
I suppose I should add my journal here, as a way of introducing myself to this House, as to stand up in front of you all, and ....eh..actually speak face to face would take far too much time. Let this history I have written speak for itself then, and let any whom would read this journal see it as my..work in progress, rather then the sum of who I am.
I am a Hunter.
Once, long before the Scourge, I was a simple elf, living on the land, part of the land, the song of the world in my veins and the joy of life about me. The coming of the Scourge changed that. The battles, the bloodshed, the wrongness of the world...forced me to action.
The spirits of the Wild stirred in me. They called me brother, and bade me take up arms against the Evils...
Many of you hunters know the rage of the beasts, the hot blood rushing to your face, the thrill as you chase the fleeing enemy...
The remorse of taking another life...
I cannot deny what I am. I am a killer. The spirits chose me to be a weapon against the foul demons and evil unnatural creatures, such as the undead that haunt our lands and destroy only for the sake of destruction.
The spirits have given me a great weapon, a bond, the call between myself and the beasts of the natural world, the bond of spirit that is unbreakable...together...the beasts and I, we will take back the night, one fell creature at a time.
I am not alone.
It is strange, the beings one meets on the battlefield, the allies, and enemies. Just as many of the animals of this world travel in packs, so to must I. My pack, a dwarf, Arlon. He speaks of things such as loyalty, and honor. He speaks of winning the war. He, like me ...hunts the Evils of the world. He talks often of joining with a larger pack..the army of the Alliance.
Hmm. A pack that large, may just win. Shriyl. A...taker of things. She laughs, and her laugh reminds me that there are still good things in the world. A good friend, that one, but...for some reason, I feel the need to keep my coins close at hand around her.
Arvaitha...my sister, who sees joy in all things, and who shows such wonder at all the world.. There are others..friends that come and go with the changing of the seasons, and friends are hard to come by. Most, heh...I would shake the heavens for those I call my friends. They are..family to me. My pack.
This journal, this place where I write, just so I won't forget how to make words, sometimes seems to be the only thing of peace in this life. Its here..that I tell the story of me...I guess...it is the record of what I do here. A testament..to what I will do..how .. How I will change the world.
Or at least start.
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Post by Kalmorith on Nov 4, 2005 16:41:42 GMT -5
Emizael, welcome! I am glad you have written here on the important subject of camaraderie and family, on trust and the strength that comes with numbers and a common bond. Indeed, words well spoken.
Last night, as I spoke with your good friend Arlon, I was aware that you were also interested in the Defenders. I am sorry that I was not able to meet up with you directly, but I took comfort in knowing that any soul who is a friend of Arlon's must be a worthy soul.
You speak truth. As hunters, we are killers. Our weapons are like appendages from our bodies, and the fury and fire that spur us to pursue our quarry is the same that is found in any beast.
Please, tell us more about yourself?
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Post by Emizael on Nov 4, 2005 18:59:18 GMT -5
*another tattered page of the old leatherbound book*
I started writing in this book, to keep a record, of things I have seen, places I have been, friends that have come and gone. Mostly I write, just to remember...to always have these memories. Perhaps this is the best way to reflect on all I have seen and done.
I suppose I should record who I am, where I am from, things of that nature...to begin at the beginning, then.
My name is Emizael Lealithor. I have no house, nor clan to speak of, or, rather, no real memory of those that might share blood with me, save one. My earliest memories are of playing in the trees of Teldrassil, running amongst the green grass, being free..
These are hazy memories...with no real substance, other then the feelings they inspire...
I remember the Forsaken. I remember them storming through the trees...I remember the stink of them washing through the glade. I remember Shriyl's screams...
I awoke alone, on an unfamiliar hillside, the dead piled around me like cordwood. I remember the rage and frustration, not being able to do anything about this... \ I remember the Calling...the spirits...they came to me. I remember...
I remember many things.
I still run beneath the trees of my old home, every chance I get, though often my wanderings take me away from the rest of the Kaldorei, and I have found many good things in my wanderings. The human town of Goldshire, for instance. Always good for a laugh, that town. The Tavern there...it has a name, I am sure, but I have yet to bother to learn it. I spend some of my downtime there, when the Alliance Military allows it.
I just recieved my Corporals rank. Some of the Commanders there talk of commissions, how with hard work, one can rise to the rank of Officer. I don't know if I want to be a leader, though, leave that to those who inspire others...
What more can I say of me? This is who I am, a soldier, another lost wanderer in strange times, I guess. However...I fully intend to make the most of all this. We'll just have to see what tommorrow brings...
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Post by Emizael on Dec 1, 2005 6:50:16 GMT -5
*smudges mar the date on this page*
I don't know how long I stared at the temple archway..the cool night breeze , the sounds and smells of Darnassus all about me.
What should have brought me peace, the touch of my home, the cool waters of the ponds..the air still so clean, brought me only more despair and confusion..
The words of the Archdruid still ringing in my ears.."Tryande is a fool!" He shouted, his wild gaze piercing me.."She does not know how to lead us!" His words strong in my mind..treasonous, poisonous words, so much like the ancient hatred that nearly destroyed the Kaldorei in ages past...
Reeling, unsure and unsteady..I found my way wandering through the streets, mixed emotions running through my mind..all I could see now, in this place of peace, was the beginnings of anarchy!
Long have I travelled, and marvellous sights have I seen...from the Great Anvil of Ironforge, the frozen meadows and ruins of Winterspring, to far off Sithilus, and even to the halls of Human boykings...and in all of these places, where men conspire and fight against one another and the common good, in all of these places, I felt pity for them!
Pity, for the men who dealt with the Defias Brotherhood, for Dwarves that sold thier families for ..thorium..and even pity for the Goblins that play on the trades of both Alliance and Horde, pity I felt for them, because we were so unalike!
No, no such shame would ever befall MY people, for we had such strong lessons of arrogance to learn from, we whom had had eternity stripped from us..never would WE become so low as to plot against our own kind...
I joined the Alliance military, in an effort to stave off the predations of monsters. I have fought against Orc and Troll, and left Tauren bloody on fields of honor...and I have fought long against the Forsaken, I threat I believed to be as great as the Burning Legion of old..
I believed that I was doing the right thing.
I returned to my once home, sick of heart and weary from such a battle, fought over land, near Alterac Valley. Many months the latest campaign raged, neither side truly victorious, even in the end, when the Horde finally capitulated lost ground and left.. I was sick ..sick of the killing, the horrors and atrocities commited by both sides of this war, where, to my shock, I encountered honorable Orc, and what I may only call as Evil...men and dwarf.
While passing through the streets of Darnassus, I happened upon a cryer..calling for Adventurers of all stripes to come before Archdruid Fandral Staghelm, and assist that worthy in performing a task. Intrigued, I climbed the spiral ways of the Cenarion Enclave, and was ushered to the chambers of the Archdruid himself, only to be..
To be not only utterly dismissed with a menial task, but to be ..BERATED for my loyalty and patronage to the Queen! To be openly insulted by my profession and nature, to be called a fool for my belief in the ways of my people..
I have been less openly insulted by pirate scum near Booty Bay.
I left from that encounter, shocked to the core, what spirit I had left in me, cold and shrivelled, and I wandered...lost, in the city of the smiling faces of my own kind.
A kind lady, I never got her name, pressed a crumb of bread to my hand, and bade me seek a healer. I suppose judging from the state of my armor, being in such bad repair, and the look on my face, she must have assumed some kindly Magi sent to me to the City to seek help. Numbly, I mumbled my thanks..barely hearing the words she spoke, only responding when she pointed to the Temple Grounds, and told me of the priestesses within.
So I found myself, staring at the Archway...the long carpet of the steep ramp littered with the leaves of the fall, not able to bring myself forward.
Few have audience with Tyrande Whisperwind. Few know her company, few know her mind. I could not bring myself to enter that holy place, the Temple of Elune, where HER high priestess, the leader of my Nation, made her house, I could not go there, with such disgrace as was in my heart.
I retreated to the Inn, near the Craftsmans Terrace, and sat amongst the folk of that hall, drinking pale wine and listening to thier rumors. Much talk there was, of a rift, between the Druids, that things were becoming quite tense between the followers of Cenarius.
How could this be? I asked myself again and again..I wandered the peaceful-seeming lands, from Teldrassil to Darnassus, my only companions my mount, Treagis, and my spirit bound ally, Zofiel. Both great cats were at unease with my nature, and both showed more than a little tension as again and again..I was shown that there is no peace, that the Kaldorei are not united, and that we are, as any people of this world, a mere fragment of what we should be.
I suppose this last bit of my youthful idealism was stripped away to show me some real and profound truth...but I have not the wisdom to recognize it.
My place? What is my place? I answered the call of the Alliance, to defend the free peoples of our world, only to find that..more often then not, the Alliance was the aggressor!
I stand with a band of heroes, the Defenders of Valor, and I begin to realize, I have defended nothing. I have no Valorous acts, I have performed no great deed, that I have no real cause. If I live by the Tenet and Code of my House, then, I must do what is right...but..what is right? What morality should guide me, when the righteous and the holy cannot even agree on what morality is?
I tried so very hard to see the world, based not on naivety..but on fact. A creature is diseased, and cannot be cured, so it must be given mercy, to be culled, so that the disease cannot spread. Simple, no? But now, apply that 'disease' to madness, and its not so simple. A rational man, acts like an animal. "Lock him in the prisons!" is the cry...until the prisons burst to overflowing, and the "animals" trapped within riot in the streets and harm innocents...
Nothing can be seen simply.
Right a wrong. This is easy. A man steals, and the law says he is wrong, so punish the man. But what if he steals because his children starve? Why are we punishing the children by depriving them of a father? Nothing is easy anymore.
The Horde is evil! Strike them down! is the cry, rallied to by flags and knights wherever the two forces meet...but...then the Orc troop allows the wounded gnomes to fall back into thier comrades arms, not pursuing them, even when it was to thier benefit?
The Horde is Evil! Destroy them before they destroy you! is the battlecall, and then...and then, while battling a fell Burning Terror in Ironwood, a pack of trolls, TROLLS, forms around you, beating the creature back, tends the wounds of you and your animals, offers you the trophy of the kill, and sends you on your way with a smile and an offering of PEACE!!!
I am mad..it seems...my own insanity? is it?
The Horde is evil! They will butcher your children!! The Knights cry, ralling the brave men of Stormwind, to hold the next assault, and then, when coming upon the enemy village, a village of women and children, not yet old enough to even know of hatred, the Brave Knight leads his men on with that same rallying cry, killing them all, so that not one escapes.
Not so simple.
I am comforted in the Halls of my fellows, my blood-brother and his wife, treating to my injuries with kind words, and ever present caring..and beside me in battle, my fellows are as brave and bold as thier very names imply. I find myself in good company..and I wonder...I wonder..how is it that I find myself with them? How is it that they do not see the beast that I have become? They do deeds of honor, and glory, and have such conviction that I am envious. The halls sing with resounding echoes of triumphs against sure foes, and terrible evils righted..
And I am shamed, that I feel no victory, I feel no righteous celebration with them. I laugh at the jokes, and I attend the functions...but..
But..still...I walk away with ..such sadness, that I am not truely one of them.
I know I am not unique, that others walk the same road as I ..that others have faced this same type of emptiness...and I envy them too..those who have not been broken, who haven't gone crazed by the strangeness of it all...
And I watch..and I wait...
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Post by Celera on Dec 1, 2005 20:47:35 GMT -5
Anyone who takes life at all seriously has times of doubt and despair. If such people cannot truly be heroic, or count themselves among the Defendors of Valor, then I think this guild would be very small (and rather worthless.)
The ones in greatest danger are not those who question their own hearts and beliefs, but those whom the world calls wise, for often these wise ones begin to believe what the world tells them. Once a person has confidence in his own wisdom, error and corruption are not far behind.
At such times (and I have had many of them) I find I must retreat to the few things I know are good, and the small duties I know are mine.
Is the Horde evil? Is the Alliance good? I am reminded of the words of a human:
"If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every person. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"
Celera
((OOC PS -- It's from Solzhenitsyn))
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Post by Emizael on Dec 2, 2005 3:51:06 GMT -5
(( I have a bunch of things rolling around in my head to add here..and not so much more of the dark stuff..but..currently, in the proud words of another man, Horace Mann; "Be ashamed until you have won some victory for all mankind." Applied to my character, examing the world as he sees it..heh..makes me think about how he sees other things...more on this later.))
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Post by landorian on Dec 10, 2005 0:27:54 GMT -5
((sorry for the late post!))
Welcome Emizael. Thank you for sharing some of your history and thoughts with us. I cannot wait to read more of your journal!
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Post by Emizael on Dec 10, 2005 17:38:33 GMT -5
7th day, December-Alterac Valley
"Hold Fire until ye see the yellows of them eyes!"
That's the first thing I remember, the Dwarf commander yelling, after the first wave of bombardment from the Horde.
Deep in Alterac, the heavily contested ground constantly fought over, constantly washed in blood.
The Commander, whose name I never got, or don't remember, had herded a small force of hunters and warriors together during a regrouping action. I was amongst a few of the survivors of the 6 December action to take the hill. We were few in number, weak, exhausted, nearly spent, and all of us bloodied. The Orc had recieved a number of reinforcements, and thier shamans were pressing heavily on all flanks, scattering the Alliance to the four winds.
Those of us that remained, myself, anyway, stood only to hold what little ground remained, so that the others in the field would have some small chance to retreat, or at least reach the Alliance base, nestled near the Valley entrance. So close, those inviting mountains, and just across them, Hillsbrad, and beyond, Southshore, relative safety.
I remember the Commander, long beard braided and soaked with gore, his tabard torn and dishevelled, standing just before us as the enemy advanced throught the smoke and the storm. The silence in the gloomy dawn, was nearly deafening. His shout, became a signal, the Horde was upon us.
Acrid stench filled the air. I realized that I was no longer hearing anything, and to my left, where my animal companion was, nothing but a blackened hole. I thought it might have begun snowing, but, all too soon, I realized, it was ash...ash and smoke.
My companion, Zofiel, a proud and noble cat, my friend and spirit bonded familiar, was no more.
My eyes locked next to the commander, his rifle held close to his hip, cradling the shattered stump of his other arm to his chest as he fired at the advancing enemy troop.
All around me, the others sprang into action. Like ...spectors, ancient ghosts of war, these heroes plunged into battle...thier warcries lost to the wind. My blade was hot and heavy in my hands. My rifle, borne of the finest dwarven craftsmen, was lost, somewhere, my ammunition long since depleted, but still, I fought on!
Bright red arcs flung about me, more enemy then I could count, and yet, I found myself laughing. Laughing and taunting the enemy, all hope long since dead.
There, before me, another foul creature. Troll! Green skin nearly glowing in the shrouded light, long tusks glistening with spittle. Screaming in his native tounge, the Troll raised up above me, a massive mace held in both hands. He too was laughing, I realized.
I barely had time to bring up my sword. With a crash that shook me to the core, the creature hit me again and again. His strength, was unbelievable! Twice, I barely deflected his blows. The third time, he swatted my blade from my grasp, and the fourth time he swung that mighty weapon, it smashed upon my helm, cracking it in twain, and driving me to my knees. I saw my doom there, in that horrid things yellow beady eyes, and...I was glad.
It pointed to itself. Said words I could not hear..and as if the gods mocked me...sound came rushing back to me...all about me...the Alliance band was routed. To my left, the commander, his golden armor washed in reds and purples, his lifesblood spent at the end of an orc spear. I saw his eyes, just before they cut off his head..a look of shock was in them, as if to say.." This cannot be!"
But it was so, and I turned back to the warrior before me, ready to accept my fate, to be the trophy of some foreign invader. The creature still spoke mockingly in its native tounge, gesturing about the field. Its intent, I thought, was clear.
Suddenly, the beast stepped away, grabbed me by the face, its filthy, greasy hands rough smelling of rancid horror, and it gestured to itself.
"Wesjin." It said. Gesturing to itself again, it spoke the word, and then pointed to the fallen. The orcs brought the dwarven commander's head and battleaxe, and offered them to the troll as a spoils of war. The troll again, fixed its gaze upon me, and then cast me to the ground. They beat upon me viciously, and I at that point, knew nothing more.
Some time later, I awoke to find a human priest tending to my wounds. He yelled something about finding a live one, or something to that effect, and then began chanting and singing in a strange voice.
Later, I found myself in the Alliance keep, amongst other wounded and survivors of the 6 December Initiative, and wretched few at that. A nearby medic claimed me lucky, and that somehow I had survived nearly impossible odds. At that moment, I knew. I knew why I lived and so many of my comrades did not.
The enemy commander wanted witnesses, and tales told of his victory, even amongst his enemies. I did not speak a word of this, even to the debriefing officer who came to rotate me out of the active combat field. Wesjin. I will remember that name, as I will remember the face of that dead dwarf, his glory spent on that field of honor.
Wesjin. I will remember his face, and the gutteral snarl of his voice, as I remember my beloved companion Zofiel, pup of Bangalesh...
And I will hunt. Oh, I will hunt. Wesjin.
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Post by Emizael on Dec 10, 2005 17:59:35 GMT -5
10th day December-BootyBay
My wounds have healed.
I have sat upon the docks of Booty Bay, watching cargo ships laden with all manner of sundry goods come and go from this busy port town, with my only friend my fishing pole, and the small bucket for the fish I hoped to catch.
Hoped, I say, for I have caught nothing in the past few hours since dawn.
I believe I am a horrid fisherman, even though I use a variety of bait. Truly, I think I lack patience for the sport, or ...perhaps the fish scent my mood and taunt me.
That's probably more likely, yes! As much as I dislike eating fish, or even the smell of them cooking, or...well, I really have no idea why I thought I would take up fishing in the first place.
I suppose, it was probably to force some patience upon myself, to ...force my mind to rest as my body convalesced...or maybe just to think about anything, just not the task at hand.
Casting the rod back out into the harbor, I reflect, and muse upon my current situation. I know what I have to do, and yet ...my heart is heavy.
Ah! a bite! Finally!! Testing the line, I find I have indeed hooked something! With quickened purpose, I reel in my catch. A shout of exhaultation wells up within me as I feel it fighting me every step of the way...but finally, blessedly, my catch breaks the surface, and with all my might, I pull the beast in to flop on the docks!
My eyes play tricks on me, I fear, or perhaps, my prey, tired and worn from its long fight simply lays flaccid, no longer trying to struggle, but then I look...I really look, to see what nether beast of the Great Sea is now mine...and.... ...... .... Laying on the dock, bright and black in the sunshine, is a cast off boot, the laces tangled in seaweed, and the tounge lolling loose like a dead Tauren bloated from too much time in the sun. A silly little boot, most likely in the size of a goblin, or a gnome, or ..perhaps a human child. A boot.
A boot.
I could not stop the laughter welling up within me...I think I laughed till the tears were spilling down my face, and passerby's shied from me as if I were a demon. I laughed long and hard, my arms wrapped about my stomach, curled in a ball, laughing into the wooden planks, worn smooth from so many trodding over them. At some point, however long it was, the laughter ended, but I could see the sun, and my poor lonely bucket, and now, my new ...boot, wrinkled and poorly used...and ...I endeavoured to find it a mate. Where one boot is, surely is another. Baiting my hook once again, I cast deeply over the surface of the Bay, once more, risking the pain of waiting, just for another bite.
I didn't get another boot. Heh...I fished long into the day, and when the sun finally set, I was awarded the visage of glorious oranges and yellows, and the deep blue of the see reflecting the majesty of the sun, and I was humbled by the sight. picking up my little bucket, and the forlorn boot, I made my way to my rented room at the Inn, to here record this, and to..perhaps get some sleep.
Its going to be a busy day tomorrow, my armor is fixed, my weapons restored, my body mended. I will go first to the Eastern Plaugelands. I hear that there is a particuarly ferocious breed of giant bat there..whose screech weakens the body and chills the soul. Perfect. Should I tame the beast, and bond its spirit to mine, I will be ready...I will be a hunter again.
Wesjin....I am coming for you.
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Post by Emizael on Dec 13, 2005 23:53:31 GMT -5
12th day, December
A single blade of grass..
It caught my attention, I fixed upon it, straining with my eye in the fading light to see the entirety of it. A single blade of grass, in hard, packed earth, struggling, it seemed, against the invisible wind to remain standing, held tall, reaching to catch the last gleam of light, to take up that last bit of nourishment into itself.
I imagine, that plant, its roots deep in the soil, locked in battle with what appears to me to be an embattled landscape, devoid of all but the hardiest scrub and tattered brush. I imagine the grass fighting, hard and long, and never giving up..thinking of how much that single blade of grass represents the whole of life that I have seen.
I think I begin to understand now, the will of things to live, no matter the where or when or how, that simple will to survive, and ...I can see no politics, no emotion, no nation or state or empty words ...because it is but grass..a shoot of simple glory and determination. There is no reason, or ..inherit intent, just..the will to be, to live, to strive to be what gods or fate or...whatever intended.
I begin to realize, fixated on one simple tiny plant..that in the grand scheme of things, if there is one, that life will do what it wills. Grass will grow, or wither and die, and that is the way of all things. We shall all be so lucky to have such a perfect place in this world, should all be so lucky to be like a tiny shoot, merely trying to live.
The reality is...that life, even life like this..seen from all angles, slightly green, and slightly blue, faint purple dancing along its edge, broad and straight and true as a marksman's arrow, the true reality is..sometimes, life is unfair. Sometimes, against all odds, and against all logic, life fails, or is ended, and the world is a bit emptier for having beheld such a marvel, and then, lost sight of it all too soon.
Tommorrow, I will stand before my friend Arlon. I will tell him what has occured, and I will lay my plans before him. I dread what he will say, what he will think, how he will react to me. We've been family for a long time now, wanderers together...we hold no secrets from one another. I just hope he doesn't get the stupid idea to try and join me on this crusade.
Shriyl would kill me..
I will have to send this book to Gudran..the library keeper of the Defenders. At least that way..I know the book will be preserved if I fall.
* pressed into the bottom of the page is a single blade of grass tied with twine*
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Post by Kalmorith on Dec 22, 2005 20:03:56 GMT -5
((I am finding this most interesting, Emizael! Do go on! And thank you for keeping this thread up!))
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Post by Emizael on Dec 24, 2005 1:24:53 GMT -5
20th day of December, Location, Unknown.
I know of exaltation. I know the glory of warriors dividing spoil, of champions cheering for victory, the sweet taste of joyous release at the moment of great import.
I have seen such light, and the changes of the world that such light brings. I also know, that some light, no matter how bright, comes sometimes from a dark source.
Many long days did I plan my hunt, and from the corners and crawls of the world did I gather my knowledge.
From the highest mountain peaks near Winterspring, did I obtain my weapons, the claws and fangs of the mighty hunting cats, the powers of the bears, the biting sting of the cold steeling my veins, armoring me for the trials to come.
The beast bonded to me easily, the Stalker, drawn to me by simple need and urgency, appearing from the snow-blown winds nearly invisible to the naked eye.
Tasker came to me, his coat whiter then the driven ice, his eyes sharper then the finest dwarf-made blades.
Long days, long days I waited for the spirits to guide me to this magnificent creature. My faith, was rewarded.
Together, we made the travel to Winterspring, and then, across plains and valleys, through forest and vale, to the goblin city of Gadgetstahn.
The cost was high, but, the thrill of the hunt was upon me. Goblins, it must serve to note, maintain an information and trade network that must boggle the mind of even the deepest cloaked SI : 7 agent from Stormwind.
The most marvelous, and ...suddenly frightening thing about these creatures, is not the fact that they seem to know everything about anyone, but that they are willing to sell that knowledge. For the paltry sum of fifty soveriegns..mere gold coins, I learned much about my target. The hunt was on. I flew as fast as I could back once again to Booty Bay, and there booked passage to the goblin town of Ratchet, in the Horde-controlled territory known as the Barrens.
I had time. Much time. A mere passing of the moons ago, full of despair and anguish, I could not imagine the strength that course through me now.
I checked my weapons for the thousandth time, the heavy blade commissioned for slaughter, enchanted with speed and flowing runes, the armor, made for heroes, now bent to the will of the hunter..burnished black against the heat and brightness of the desert at noon. My trusty dwarven handcannon, fully restored and repaired..the ammunition of Thorium, crafted by hands surely graced by the Gods themselves...I was ready...
My training was complete. 60 seasons, the mark of the accomplished, set on my soul for barely a day, and I was nearer my target by the hour.
The goblin spies I had paid were excellent in thier information, and thus, from Ratchet, armed and armored, I pressed on..deeper and deeper into the Horde lands, keeping to the scrub hills, moving like a hungry ghost across the plains, to sleep amongst lions and raptors when I grew weary, and under the shade of hills long claimed by the Quillboars when the Horde sentries drew too near.
Ogrimmar. The name is fearsome to many. The seat of Thrull, the warchief of an entire nation of angry Orc, and one of the mightiest warriors in the entirety of the world. Thrull's name alone is like wildfire, igniting fervor amongst all the many races of the Horde. To speak it, and be of the Alliance, is to invite misfortune, and death. To the Horde, it is a name like unto Elune, evocative of grace, and honor of the hunt. To Thrull's city I came. I beheld the walls, grey and forlorn, the steady throng of passer-throughs on their ways to do business, to market, to war...
Commoner and Patrician alike, if Orc have those social distinctions, pressed against each other in the throng, the gates into Ogrimmar were packed with many.
Hundreds bore all manner of weapon and armor, and it was easy to see that much like IronForge, this, this was the centre of the Horde. I pulled forth my spyglass, held tight to the artifact hydrocane in my grasp, and slipped into the waters of the river nearby, waiting for my moment...
Night fell, long shadows across the waves. The magic of my artifact sustaining me ..the rivers waters carrying me closer and closer to the walls of Ogrimmar. I waited and I waited. The appointed hour was close at hand. Paying for information was the least of my activities. It cost me most of my fortunes accumulated, but I bribed one of my informants to carry a word of challenge to my prey.
Wesjin was resplendant in his plate armor, his skin blue and black against the night sky. Massive was his blade, carried easily in one hand, as he scanned the night, sniffing the air. The goblins had done thier work well, convincing Wesjin that a young Darkspear Troll wanted to challenge Wesjin, for a feat of honor. It was I that awaited him. I rose from the waters with no sound to betray me. The air was hot, but welcome to me, and nearly dried my sodden raiments instantly. Tasker immediately came to my side, summoned by my soundless call. I noticed my target, and branded him, the arcane swirling around him, the Mark of the Hunter touching him instantly. He crouched defensively, looking all about him, his beady eyes scanning desperately, and then...then..he saw me. "Wesjin." I spat the name like an epithat, pointing my blade at him.
He howled ferociously, and began to rant in that ..gutteral tounge of the troll, but it was too late.
He took a step forward, and met my first trap. The liquid fire wreathed his form, burning him to the bone in several places, and still he came on! The frenzy of blood was upon him. The spirit of the Eagle filled me then, and easily did I bring the barrels of my gun to bear, casting aside the sword with scarce effort on my part.
The gun was thunderous, and spat long gouts of flame at those hate filled eyes, once, twice, and third time my weapon sounded, shattering the peace of darkness.
So close was Wesjin at that point, that the stink of his fetid breath was in my nostrils. I calmly gazed into those eyes, felt the death in them, and laughed.
Wesjin met my second trap a few feet from me, His mighty sword raised high. Tasker. The mighty beast appeared from the darkness, his camoflauge perfect in the gloom. My spirit raged, as did his. Huge in size, nearly twice the mass of the armored troll, Tasker hit Wesjin near the waist, his claws raking the trolls sides, and peeling through enchanted steel as if it were but paper.
Quickly, I dropped the cannon and pulled forth the crystal vial from the compartment in my gauntlets. Grasping the cork with my teeth, I wrenched it free and swallowed the contents whole, and closed the visor of my helm.
The magic was immediate. Winterspring Firewater, tainted, corrupted, infinately powerful, my muscles ripping and straining against my armor, I retrieved my massacre blade, and waded into the fray. Wesjin had not fared well against Tasker, but was still a mighty warrior. He struggled for purchase against the cat, finally heaving the animal aside with a terrific display of strength. Tasker slammed into the ground, momentarily dazed, and Wesjin turned, expecting to slaughter me easily, I expect. The fear in his eyes as I loomed above him, a grim specter of his destruction, will keep me warm for the rest of my days.
I wielded my blade like a woodsman with a hatchet, striking down upon him with inexorable fury. Again and again, my blade battered upon the troll, and though honestly, he deflected many of my hectic strikes, it was not my goal to kill him with the sword.
Rather, I needed to buy time. I knew that time was always a factor. Even in the dead of night, many come to the gates of Ogrimmar. Even though the battle took only a few seconds, already, a crowd was approaching. I spared them only a seconds' glance, It was nearly time.
I could hear the shouts of the guardsmen and local adventurers approaching, thier shouts turning to near horror as Tasker again flew into Wesjin, tearing his legs from beneath him. I grabbed the troll by his greasy mane, and as the advancing Horde approached, I faced them, my sword held high, and I screamed.
Such ..primal fury, such...defiance in the face of the enemy. They held back...confusion and..fear in thier faces...my blade struck home...Wesjin's head came free in my grasp...
I knew it would take only seconds for them to end me. My work, was done, or nearly so. I had the victory that I sought. My hunt was over. The assembled mass of the Horde would surely destroy me now, easily..there were so many...
Explosions rocked the night. The Horde had met my third and final trap. Arlon and Arvaitha had done thier jobs splendidly, placing explosive traps near the gate, using strange gnome devices unlike what we hunters normally use, these having ..distant triggers,to be set off at the appropriate time. Shriyl was there next, hurling lit dynamite explosives, they call them..E-Z throw, I believe, scattering the masses about me. Exaltation. I held the head dripping gore high, and lept over the body, calling Tasker to me. Arlon and Arvaitha let forth tremendous scattering volleys of arrows, and we ran. Oh, how we ran, fading into the night, leaving only the burned earth and the headless body of my victim, to prove that we had ever been there.
At the doorstep of Thrull's home, I met my quarry. I met him, and destroyed him. In the face of his own people, in the face of his entire army, did I strike him down...and...I lived to tell the tale.
I knew my family would never let me go alone. I knew that they would follow me into the very hells of the Twisting Nether, and I know, that I never really even had to ask. But to have them with me..to have them share in this ...hunt...I do not have the words.
What I did, some may consider dishonorable. Some, may even say that it was an act of murder. I don't care about that anymore. If I have learned anything at all in life, its simply this. Do what you must, to survive, and...if you cannot win, then...take revenge.
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Post by Arlon on Dec 26, 2005 7:19:59 GMT -5
((Nice!))
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Post by Windfoot on Dec 26, 2005 18:33:26 GMT -5
((well done!))
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Post by Emizael on Dec 27, 2005 2:11:49 GMT -5
(( Okay..some of that was true..and some of it was fiction, but..it was a good start anyway. In the next act, I think, we shall have the funny. I'm thinking something like, Don Juan meets the 3 stooges kinda funny...anyways..let me know what yas think.))
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