Posted: Wed Jun 04, 2008 8:11 pm Post subject: Exile
The sun was hot overhead.
Drusk squinted as he cast his violet eyes out over the battlefield, breathing deeply as his precious break from the fighting would allow him. He tasted the sweat that beaded on his face, and grimly he noted that his teams lines were faltering.
"Not enough healers," he said to himself, and not for the first time this afternoon. The Alliance forces were rabble, mostly, but they had their seasoned veterans who were obviously doing their best to organize their efforts, and Drusk grunted as he tightened his bandage, watching a small pocket of four warriors crest the hill. Break time was over.
An undead priest ran straight out into the clearing between Drusk and the Alliance unit, and the burly orc swore under his breath as he adapted his plan. He despised the Forsaken, and if it wasn't for the orders of his superiors, he'd as soon fight beside a dwarf as a plaguebearer. Even eternal unlife didn't seem to wise the rotted one's up.
"'Do not be forced. Be the force,'" he quoted, hefting his axe as he broke into a run. The priest hadn't seen the approaching warriors yet, likely trying to link up with the larger fighting force across the valley floor. He watched as the Alliance fighters - not unlike wolves - angled their approach to cut off the priest. He also noted that one of them was a hunter, and knew that the priest would never be able to outrun them. He - however - was approaching the enemy fast, and thus far, undetected. He was happy to see their druid was too preoccupied with catching the 'easy' prey of the cleric, and wasn't attuned to his surroundings. Drusk singled out the hunter, who was drawing back his bow ...
"Schon arador! Arador!" he heard the yell, and caught the hunter's eye as the dwarf suddenly understood his danger. But it was too late. Drusk had counted a mage, a druid and a young looking paladin in their ranks, on top of the hunter who was now within range. He charged, bringing his deadly waraxe crashing down on the hunter. Briefly, he noted the hunter's alien ravager engaging the blind priest, and knew that the dwarf was now in no man's land.
The hunter fell swiftly, even though it took some skill evading his hastily laid trap. Drusk turned and engaged the paladin next, as he thought he would. He briefly watched as the priest, desperate, flashed out a fear invoking spell that drove off the rapidly closing druid. He returned to the paladin.
She was agile, and sported some thick armor, but Drusk read the fear in her eyes even as she prayed fervently to the Light that seemed to be oh so far away. "Do not fear. Be feared," he intoned, content to trade blows with the far outmatched holy warrior until she made a desperation attempt to bring the divine into play. He caught the panic-filled glimmer he was looking for, and he drew on his own personal strength to bring her to ultimate peace in a flurry of savage attacks.
"'Do not relent. Be relentless,'" he stated calmly, only his shoulder shifting as the bolt of fire smote him full on. He smelled the charred flesh, and the mage, who had been tailing the pursuit, now found himself within easy range of the warrior who had just cleanly dispatched his two comrades. He heard another scream, and noted that the druid was still being kept at bay by the priest, but that the druid was starting to figure things out. He grimaced. He could use the healing, he supposed, but knew that to leave the mage unmolested meant taking a full brunt of the arcane assault from afar, and the priest was already weakening. The logic only took less than a moment to work out. The mage entered into another spell, and Drusk felt the air around him begin to chill. Too late, it seemed.
With a crunch, Drusk knocked the mage down, and felt the magic disolve. The gnome struggled to his feet, but Drusk brought his great axe down hard over the caster's goggled head, and felt the spellshield buckle. He smiled, and came again at the mage, and the ground seemed to tremble. Drusk knew what the caster was preparing, and felt his anger well up inside him. With a cutting blow that was aimed to execute the sorcerer once and for all, he snarled. But the mage, impossibly, absorbed the attack. He hammered again, and noticed the green-white nimbus of light that surrounded the caster, and knew intuitively that the druid had finally dispatched the wayward priest.
He also knew that the druid was fighting a losing battle, keeping the gnome alive.
"'Do not seek power. Be powerful.'" Drusk did not shift to the druid. He concentrated his attacks on the much softer mage, driving him back, not giving him a chance to recover his strength. But he measured his attacks like a dance, being sure not to injure the mage beyond repair. He watched the war of healing magics meet the unrelenting rage behind his attacks, and knew that the druid was beginning to weaken. He looked about him, and saw a pair of Alliance swiftly approaching the conflict in the distance. He sighed. "Not enough healers."
The Alliance fighters closed the gap only to watch in awe as a blue skinned orc with purple hair and a great glowing axe clove a small gnome in twain, and then, with a furious howl turn and all but obliterate the night elven druid behind him. They stopped as the warrior turned to face them, blood dripping from a dozen burns and wounds, but the gleam in his eye telling them that he was not through killing just yet. They watched as he tightened a bloody strip of cloth, and they knew that they were in for a far more serious fight than they'd anticipated.
"'Do not sing. Be sung about,'" the warrior said to himself ... and charged.
((Awesome battleground story)) _________________ "I kill two dwarfs in da morning, I kill two dwarfs at night, I kill two dwarfs in the afternoon, and then I feel alright. I kill two dwarfs in time of peace and two in time of war, I kill two dwarfs before I kill two dwarfs, and then I kill two more."
((That was a good read. More I say, more!)) _________________ Watch out, or I'll build a ladder wide enough for the centaurs to get up onto Thunder Bluff, and then beef will be for dinner.
Posted: Thu Jun 05, 2008 2:09 pm Post subject: Exile cont'd
Tauren stank.
Of course, Drusk was used to it by now, having spent his entire life with the tribal people, but the fact still remained: under the heat of the midday sun in peaceful Thunder Bluff, the cow people secreted a foul odor unmatched anywhere else in Kalimdor.
Drusk nodded curtly at the pair of women across the small pool. They snorted and batted their eyes, turning away from him to talk between themselves. Drusk grunted and returned to his forge. There was work to be done.
His blue skin gleamed in the sun, but to the locals in Thunder Bluff, Drusk no longer seemed out of place. Indeed, it was never unheard of for an orc to frequent the Tauren capital, especially when the Darkmoon Faire was in town, but Drusk had been an accepted member of Tauren society since he'd been brought here as a child, so long ago. He even had the braids to prove it now, though they had taken him a long time to earn, and even the Tauren knew that his purple hair was an oddity among his father's people. Drusk's story had never been anything but odd, and he rarely spoke about it, and his wards never questioned him on it, and that was fine with him.
Axetotem, they called him. When he had been exiled from Orgrimmar so many years ago, his Tauren charges had been given a great battleaxe and told to instruct the lad in it's use. The Peaceful cow-people had been ill-disposed towards the idea, but both the orc and Tauren shamans had "seen" the same path for Drusk on the eve of his conception, and they knew that without the axe, Drusk would never hold true to his destiny. Many were not sure they even wanted Drusk to realise his destiny, but as so often happens when fate takes a hand, they were left without a choice.
The hammer fell in steady, rythmic beats, the blade starting to fold under the constant pressure. Drusk ignored the urge to look eastward again, having grown out of the habit of longing to be accepted by the orcs. The Tauren had come to respect and even somewhat enjoy the orc's quiet company, his years of battle prowess coupled with his honest conduct having won over their initial distrust of his arrival. In turn, Drusk had come to admire the tribal heritage of his new people, and found their culture of living off the land and giving back to it wholesome and worth fighting for. In truth, he was more Tauren now than orc, and he prided himself on that.
"Axetotem. How comes the weapon?" Drusk looked up and straight into the large eyes of a massive, black-horned Tauren. The bull-ring in his nose quivered menacingly, but Drusk's small tusks curved upwards in a soft smile. Bauros was a warrior like Drusk, and the two had gone though fire and flame together. He fondly recalled younger days when the two would galivant through the myriad caves west of the Crossroads, each trying to outdo the other in reliving the tales of the mighty adventurers that had raided the Wailing Caverns in order to bring an end to the mad druids that resided therein. Those had been the days.
"Good, Bauros, good. Thirty more folds and it should be done. Hamuul will have it before the week is out." Bauros nodded approvingly, but a strange glimmer flashed in his eyes, and Drusk, who had spent his life among Bauros' people, noticed the telltale flick of curiosity in the warrior's tail. He folded his great arms across his chest and turned to face Bauros squarely. "What is it, my friend?"
"Err - nothing. It's just -" Drusk angled his head to one side, watching Bauros struggle with words, which were never the great warrior's strong suit. "There's talk of war. Cairne's been holed up with the chieftains for the better part of the morning, ever since that Darkspear showed up on his doorstep."
Drusk's expression melted from one of amusement to one of dark focus. "What does this have to do with me, Bauros?"
Although bigger, Drusk watched as Bauros swallowed hard and scratched his side. The Tauren was hiding something ... or a least he was reluctant to say what was on his mind.
"Well - directly - nothing. But the warmaster's on Hunter's Rise are starting to drum, and we're answering the call. Some have said that the Darkspear came bearing the Fisherking."
"Alcontar," Drusk said, and Bauros nodded once. The Fisherking was the ancient symbolic spear of the Darkspear tribe. Each allied race within Thrall's Horde had a particular symbol with which they would summon their allies, if only in the gravest need. The Darkspears, while the smallest contingent of the Horde, were also arguably the fiercest and most pride filled. While he didn't generally associate with the trolls, he did respect them, and if they had come to Thunder Bluff bearing Alcontar ...
"It begins then?" Drusk asked. Bauros looked down at the axe his orc friend had been working on. Then he looked back to Drusk, the severity in his gruff voice hauntingly apparent, as if some unspoken pact was being called into play between the two.
"It begins, my friend. Ancestors watch over us." _________________ Be True
Posted: Thu Jun 05, 2008 8:51 pm Post subject: Exile cont'd
"Where will you go?"
Drusk's expression was outwardly calm as he paused in his packing. He didn't meet the old Tauren's eyes at first, but the set in his jaw was resolute.
"I don't know, wise one. Bauros will be with me."
"Dispense with the honorifics, Axetotem," said the shaman, chuckling. "You're among the most revered warriors in Thunder Bluff. I'm only an aging cow who wishes to know where his son will travel to realise his destiny. Nothing more than that."
"Nothing more," Drusk echoed, finally meeting the elder's compassionate eyes. He felt a pang of guilt at leaving Rotke like this, but in his heart he knew the wise shaman understood what needed to be done. Rotke had been his chief ward when Drusk had first come to Mulgore, charged by Drusk's father to safeguard the boy, and to educate him as best he might. It was Rotke who had argued most fervently for Drusk's acceptance in Thunder Bluff. It was Rotke who had taught him how to wield an axe like it was an extension of Drusk's arm. It was also Rotke who had been the one to finally reveal to the orc his dark origins ... and who made certain that Drusk had been prepared to deal with the weight of responsibility his bloodline would bring. Drusk held no higher respect for a mortal than for Rotke.
"I will travel as far as my path take me. The Alcontar was the sign ... but I think you knew that."
Rotke smiled and nodded sagely, but his smile was tinged with sadness. It was clear to Drusk that Rotke had not wanted see the day Drusk would have to leave to meet his fate. In truth, Drusk had hardly wanted to see that day, but certain events had happened in the orc's long life that had convinced Drusk that his life was highly valued by some unknown Power. At first he had rebelled against the idea, and those that recalled those days had been convinced that Drusk had a developed a serious death wish. It was only those closest to the orc who knew the inner turmoil he'd gone through, but they kept his trust, knowing full well the depth the orc's rage at betrayal could take him. Drusk counted many comrades, but only a few close friends, and only a small fraction of those with his life's story. The reckless forays into battle were Drusk's way of keeping his sanity when faced with the full weight of what he was born to do.
"Aye, I did," the Tauren murmured softly. He reached out a large hand and placed it firmly on Drusk's shoulder. The orc never budged, and Rotke nodded approvingly. "You are ready, Drusk, and I think that is what matters more than any 'sign'. This day was written 10,000 years ago. You have been marked, by what it remains to be seen, but you are ready."
Drusk didn't say anything, but he checked his packs again and shouldered a thick leather bag, the weight of which should have stooped a normal warrior, but Drusk had the strength of a Kodo. Rotke released his hand from Drusk's shoulder, backing away.
"You still haven't answered my question, Drusk. Where will you go?"
Drusk grinned suddenly, with such ferocity that it momentarily startled his lifelong mentor and friend.
"One way or another, wise one, I must go to Orgrimmar."
Rotke, who's eyes hardened after a moment, caught the glimmer in his pupil's. "Your father?"
"Aye," Drusk said, hefting his great axe against his shoulder and meeting Rotke's level stare. "It's time to go home." _________________ Be True
Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2008 4:16 pm Post subject: Exile cont'd
"Human!"
"Orc!"
Drusk sent the golden haired knight sprawling with a right cross from the Nether. The elder paladin toppled across some poor patrons who had abruptly gotten up from their chairs, sensing the impending conflict. The knight was not undone yet, however, and as Drusk closed in on him, the human ducked and charged, embracing the orc's thick waist in a tackle that sent both combattants into the corner table, splintering wood everywhere. The bruisers at the entrance of the inn began to role up their sleeves, prepared to involve themselves if need be. The knight had become a welcome addition to the harbor town of Ratchet, and if the orc got the upper hand ... well ... the goblins were prepared to take the human's side.
Drusk snarled and using what awesome strength that remained in him, he tossed the knight like a child into the far wall, hearing the satisfactory thud of impact. He got slowly to his feet, only to find that the knight had somehow disappeared. At the last moment, however, he realised his mistake and tried to duck as the nimble human lept at him from behind, arms latching onto the big orc like a crab, legs wrapped childishly about Drusk's torso.
"Unbecoming behaviour for a Knight of the Silver Hand," Drusk gasped, feeling his air slowly being squeezed from his powerful chest.
"The Light doesn't care how I do it, just that I do it, foul beast!" quipped the struggling knight, blowing matted hair from his eyes and increasing his pressure on the orc's throat and midsection. Drusk felt his knee buckle as his extremities started to tingle, but then felt the welcome return of that odd power that coursed through his body when he fought. The knight seemed to sense it too, and as Drusk turned to hurdle himself at the beam that would surely send the Ratchet inn's roof crumbling to the ground, the aged human relenquished his grip and stood off, facing the orc warrior. The Ratchet bruisers had stepped into the main room, eyeing both fighters warily, and even the knight seemed uncertain if the warrior would be able to release his hold on that strange power he seemed to summoned.
Drusk felt the power rush in, felt his eyes go red as they always did when he fought, but bringing into play his many years of training and honing the innate force within him, he gradually let it slip away, back to it's place of eager but patient anticipation. The knight's battle stance relaxed, and the two crossed the splinter-covered floor and embraced forearms, staring respectfully into one another's eyes.
"It's good to see you, Aquitaine," said Drusk heavily. The golden haired knight smiled sadly, nodding before opening his mouth. The words, at first, had difficulty shaping.
"It's been a long time, Gloinador." _________________ Be True
Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2008 8:43 pm Post subject: Exile resolution
"Alcontar," the aging knight mused.
The two Third War allies were in Aquitaine's study, both seated by the fire, and both sipping on goblets of a rare 99 year old port that had seen it's fair share of adventures. The fire crackled and snapped between the pauses in conversation, but between Drusk and his lifelong friend, even the silences were a part of the conversation. Drusk looked over at the paladin and nodded, tugging pensively at his braid.
"Theramore feels they were provoked into attacking the Darkspears for the ambush on the Duke's caravan earlier this spring. The Darkspears are quiet on the matter here in Ratchet, but they have been raising the riff raff here to strike back at Northwatch Hold. Theramore didn't strike nearly so hard as to tell the trolls they weren't simply welcome to attack any old caravan. I expect Jaina may not even be aware that the Darkspears were routed from the Strand, or that they sent for aid. Where does Orgrimmar stand?"
The question fell out but Drusk was prepared for it. Even so, however, an old bitterness crept into his voice as he answered the man.
"I have sent Bauros into Durotar. I have told him that I will meet him on the summer solstice, once I have things ... properly in hand. Other than that, even Cairne does not know where my people stand. He has not yet given the call to arms, but risks fracturing Thrall's Horde if he waits too much longer. The Darkspear messangers were coming frequently, and they were growing concerned with the show of indifference from Thunder Bluff and Orgrimmar."
Aquitaine took another sip, and shrugged.
"Thrall's a wise Warchief, my friend. He has an unerring ability to smell a trap, and his wars against the Legion were rife with deception on all sides. There may be more to this 'indifference' than you may think you understand."
A younger Drusk would have grown hot at the knight's chiding words, but Drusk and Aquitaine had had many of these verbal dances, and Drusk knew that his friend was thinking out loud. Drusk had come to appreciate the candor and directness ... which had led to them becoming inseperable comrades during the War.
"You think Thrall knows about the attack, but he's waiting on whatever force that guides the Darkspears to reveal itself to him in anger. Would make sense. A cunning warmonger would try to approach the Tauren as well as Orgrimmar, to stir them both to honor their allegiance to one another, and quickly motivate each other towards war. No doubt this same warmonger has sent emissaries overseas, as well."
Aquitaine opened his mouth, but said nothing, and Drusk caught the hesitation immediately.
"What is happening in Stormwind, my friend?"
Aquitaine stared down at his port, thought beneath a furrowed brow for a moment, and then set the goblet aside and turned to Drusk.
"We found her, Drusk."
Drusk blinked in confusion, and then stared back at his friend, who hadn't wavered. Slow realisation began to come to the blue-skinned orc, and his eyes slowly widened.
Aquitaine had been a member of the Followers of the Hidden Path, a reclusive order of holy men and women that had devoted themselves to the preservation, study and realisation of an ancient prophecy. The prophecy was called the Prophecy of the Five Portents, and hearkened back to the days following the War of the Ancients, where the first attack of the Burning Legion was turned back, and a night elven priestess had spoken the ominous warnings of a Final Conflict with this Legion, one that would be led by a General. A General that was very specifically foreseen to be a woman. And they had found her.
"The General? But that means -"
"Aye, lad, I know what that means! The Follower's have been slain to a man, Light bless them on their long journey. I'm the last of them, and as you can see ... I'm no spring chicken anymore. 'The Followers have been driven from the Path' my friend. We found her. Or -"
Drusk glanced up at the sudden deflection, and he rose to his feet.
"Or what?"
Aquitaine could scarcely bring himself to look at his friend, confusion and frustration paramount in his expression. He shook his head, which Drusk had come to know was the knight's way of berating himself when he stepped off his Path. He said nothing, however, awaiting his old friend's returning composure.
"We found her, Drusk, but then we lost her."
Drusk frowned. "You - lost - her? This may sound harsh, commander, but when you spend 10,000 years looking for someone, don't you think it's a good idea to hold onto her when you finally do catch her?"
Aquitaine's expression grew dark and he met his friend's violet stare, hands clenched.
"Don't you understand, Drusk? Think through that thick skull of yours, for a moment. I was sent overseas by the Followers, to research some rumors here in Ratchet about civil unrest. I sent my understudy, a priest called Eto, to Stormwind to carry on the search in the Eastern Kingdoms during my absence. Light help me, my friend, but I have always been True to my Path, and have never once wavered from it, but I sensed that I was close to something in Stormwind, and to be sent away to Ratchet ... I had to make sure what I had been on the trail of never went cold. So I made sure I had Eto pick up where I'd left off.
"Eto put all the pieces together where I could not, but then, he's always been blessed with a unique common sense that I can lack at times. The Portents all pointed to Stormwind, and from what I came to understand, the General was found in the form of Lyssira Smithford. On recieving word from Brother Eto, I quickly abandoned my post here in Ratchet and made my way across the sea to Elwynn Forest, and that's when things went awry."
Drusk inclined his head questioningly, but was content to wait on his comrade as he rose up and began to pace about the study.
"I should never have strayed from my Path! I should have stayed in Ratchet! I forgot my capacity within the Followers, which was war, and became anxious to see the fruits of so many years of labor. The Exiled had been tracking me. They followed me north to Darnassus, where I left word with Illiana. They followed me down to Theramore, to Menethil and finally to Elwynn. I led them to every surviving member of the Followers, in an effort to gather them and bring them before the General. Many would not come out of hiding, but even then, it was too late. I brought them all to their dooms in my carelessness. And Lyssira could not bear the blood on her hands in events beyond her control. She abandoned her defenders even as the hour of her destiny approached. I was afflicted grievously."
Aquitaine looked at Drusk, the raw pain now glaringly evident. Even so, his eyes flashed as he seemed to take strength from the orc's presence.
"I felt cheated, abandoned and wronged. But then, in the hour I returned to Ratchet, I knew the full scope of my error. When you Walk along the Path, Drusk, you may not always know the way, but you have faith in the Light to guide you even in the darkest times. But the higher you travel up the Path, the further you have to fall.
"When I returned to Ratchet, I found the town in an uproar. A band of Darkspears was preparing to raid Northwatch Hold, and the humans had all but abandoned the town by this point. The Shimmering Flats attack had successfully mobilized Theramore into a counterstrike on the Strand, and the Darkspears had already sent for aid from your Thunder Bluff and Orgrimmar. The first engagements in the Final War had been given ... and I had been chasing a fools dream overseas. And then you arrived ... and everything made sense, my friend. Terrible sense."
"You speak in ill-humored riddles, paladin. What does my presence here mean to you. My destiny is my own."
Aquitaine stopped his pacing and stared his companion in the eye.
"Do you recall Sister Illiana, Drusk?"
The orc did, and indeed had been saddened to just hear of her passing. She had been integral in helping the Tauren druids decipher much of the meanings of the omens that had accompanied Drusk's adoption into their tribe. Aquitaine went on.
"Illiana was fond of translations. She knew words even I would have trouble recalling, and in my own native tongue at that! Do you remember what she said about the pet name we called you during the Third War?"
"Gloinador? She said it was human for 'Protector' or something."
"Indeed. And it was. But not too long after we had parted ways, Drusk, she had come to me and had pointed out that our name also had a direct translation into another word. More specifically, another name. Destroyer. She said that the word Gloinador came from a combination of both aspects, and that the name was born by a paladin some 300 years prior, that he had belonged to a long forgotten order."
"What does that have to do with me?"
Aquitaine's smile slowly melted. "The last of the Follower's to die at the hands of the Exiled was Illiana. Attached to her head in Stormwind was a message and in it it made direct reference to the the Protector and the Destroyer. In my business, Drusk, there is no such thing as coincidence."
Drusk struggled with the information, his expression growing dark. It was the same for him, though he hated feeling the pawn.
"What must I do, my friend?"
Aquitaine's smile returned, tinged with sadness but conviction. "What you have set out to do, Drusk. Reassemble the Black Regiment. You are a warrior, Drusk. You must walk the Warrior's Path."
Drusk nodded, and noted that his goblet was still half full.
"Looks like I won't be needing you, for a while," he said, and flung the port into the flames. From behind, Aquitaine observed the orc with the blue skin and purple braided hair. An orc marked for a destiny that may spell the end of their world ... or it's salvation. He turned to face Aquitaine again, the resolve returned.
"Where do I find another Black Regiment, my friend?"
"Well ... it's funny that you mention that, Drusk. There are a few fighters who've recently lost their General. I expect you'll probably be bumping into them, first."
Drusk looked into the fire, and then back to his friend.
"Gloinador?" he asked, uncertain.
"No, my friend. The Gloinador." _________________ Be True
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