10-22-2010, 06:47 PM
Meditation - The Tale of an aspiring Spirit Champion
Chapter 1:
In the Mountains
The words played from his mouth, the questions from the darkest reaches of his conscious. The experienced orc let out a sigh as he continued on his path, leading nowhere, and coming from nowhere. The forest surrounding, full of life and song coming from the deepest cave to the tallest tree. Within moments the stone path that he was following gave way to beaten grass and an empty clearing formed. At a moment's instant he was surrounded, not by enemies nor by beasts but by memories. Each one took its place in a circle encompassing Duron, some in pairs, others standing alone.
The first vision in front of him was the orc Dagrim. He slowly began to circle the vision, grunting. "Dagrim Blackarrow, the unruly soldier. Kicked down at every chance by every rank. I always wondered if we would consider her more than a peon, heh." Duron smirked as he continued to eye the statue-like figure. "Oh how you've changed. You listen now. You can fight and you won't take shit when you don't have to.†Duron chuckled again as he plucked the string of the bow on Dagrim's back, the vision instantly dissipated into a cloud of smoke.
Standing only a few feet from Dagrim was a tall, muscled Orc covered in black plate and carried with him an axe similar to an Earthshaker's. Duron looked at him with disgust. "Kathorg, our 'warlord'. Where the hell have you gone that your men didn't matter? Did you intend for us to freeze? To sit idle for months on end?" Duron snarled at the memory. "You were a fool, and always will be to us." Duron placed his hand on kathorg's head, the grip tightening until the memory dissipated into dust.
Next was a pair, Farseer Mochla and Gladiator Drumgar Bloodpaw. They both stood with straight backs. Mochla was dressed in her normal brown robes while Drumgar was plated head to toe with the armor of an Arena master. “The most honorable pair I have ever met. Even Drumgar's wisdom surpasses that of most men in their day and age.†He looked over to Mochla. “The Farseer, such a prestigious orc. Taking what would be done in double her age and completing it with a light heart. Now, Bloodpaw, perhaps its best you not tell us of your bite marks.†He Chuckles and bows before the pair and they too became nothing more than air.
The next figure stood in a pose, howling axe drawn in one hand while the other was clenched in a fist. The face shows obvious expressions of war, scarred, torn, and bloody. "Lirshar Goresight, my mate, my love. How we danced around each other for months, lightly tracing our steps. I am proud to be with you, to comfort you. Yet the question still strikes at the back of a head as a nail on wood. Am I worthy to have you? Will I let you down at every turn as Kathorg did or will I persevere? Only time and bonding will tell..." Duron pats Lirshar on the head, smiling weakly as he does so.
The final pair stood tall and proud, one was a tall male orc with less than a hair on his head. In matter of fact he was barely clothed except for a plate-mail set of leg guards, in his hand was an obsidian-headed maul with a shaft made of wood from Ashenvale. Next to the tall Orc was an elderly, frail Orc. Her left arm is missing but the rest of her is covered with an elegant robe of white feathers. "Father, mother. The two spirits that forged my own…I owe you both too much. Not even my thoughts can sum up what I have to share with you father, but perhaps...We will see." He begins to tear, bringing his father into an embrace. He lets out a choked sigh as the next vision fades. He turns and gives his mother the same embrace and her fate the same.
The wind grew violent at a moment's notice, dusts from the memories picked up and formed itself into a being all its own. Monstrosities garbed in torn brown linen, red spikes shooting out from the shoulders. With a wicked grin the beast's words dripped venom. "Death, destruction, woe and sorrow are the seeds you plant in this world! The fruit of your labors...so delicious." Memories begin to surround Duron again, this time by the thousands. Night elves, humans, beasts and Warriors alike appear, faceless. The robed figure finally removed his hood to reveal himself to appear exactly as Duron.
The warriors all drew weapons of different size and origins. The robed imitation licked his lips with a forked tongue. “I will take joy, oh so great joy in destroying you from the inside out…†The hood was brought up again by a heavy gust of wind. Not a warrior moved except for Duron who struggled to keep himself up against the gale winds. “Die!â€Â
They all charged, warrior and woman alike, child and elder all converged on him like a swarm. Biting, slashing, gnawing, carving, bashing.
…And then there were none.
Duron awoke from his meditation covered in a sweat, his body shivering from the breeze. The orange mountains glowed as the first light of dawn broke over the land. He began to rise amongst the small camp in front of him but found he stiff and tired.
He picks up his hammer with a tired groan, his shoulder and arm producing a ‘crack' sound as he flexed his arm. The subtle sound of unsheathing swords sounded only a few feet back.
Chapter 1:
In the Mountains
Duron Bloodaxe, of the Warsong
What am I?
Champion of the Goresight Vanguard
Why was I awarded this?
Mate of Lirshar Goresight
Am I even worthy of her?
Warrior of the horde
Am I nothing more than a coward?
What am I?
Champion of the Goresight Vanguard
Why was I awarded this?
Mate of Lirshar Goresight
Am I even worthy of her?
Warrior of the horde
Am I nothing more than a coward?
The words played from his mouth, the questions from the darkest reaches of his conscious. The experienced orc let out a sigh as he continued on his path, leading nowhere, and coming from nowhere. The forest surrounding, full of life and song coming from the deepest cave to the tallest tree. Within moments the stone path that he was following gave way to beaten grass and an empty clearing formed. At a moment's instant he was surrounded, not by enemies nor by beasts but by memories. Each one took its place in a circle encompassing Duron, some in pairs, others standing alone.
The first vision in front of him was the orc Dagrim. He slowly began to circle the vision, grunting. "Dagrim Blackarrow, the unruly soldier. Kicked down at every chance by every rank. I always wondered if we would consider her more than a peon, heh." Duron smirked as he continued to eye the statue-like figure. "Oh how you've changed. You listen now. You can fight and you won't take shit when you don't have to.†Duron chuckled again as he plucked the string of the bow on Dagrim's back, the vision instantly dissipated into a cloud of smoke.
Standing only a few feet from Dagrim was a tall, muscled Orc covered in black plate and carried with him an axe similar to an Earthshaker's. Duron looked at him with disgust. "Kathorg, our 'warlord'. Where the hell have you gone that your men didn't matter? Did you intend for us to freeze? To sit idle for months on end?" Duron snarled at the memory. "You were a fool, and always will be to us." Duron placed his hand on kathorg's head, the grip tightening until the memory dissipated into dust.
Next was a pair, Farseer Mochla and Gladiator Drumgar Bloodpaw. They both stood with straight backs. Mochla was dressed in her normal brown robes while Drumgar was plated head to toe with the armor of an Arena master. “The most honorable pair I have ever met. Even Drumgar's wisdom surpasses that of most men in their day and age.†He looked over to Mochla. “The Farseer, such a prestigious orc. Taking what would be done in double her age and completing it with a light heart. Now, Bloodpaw, perhaps its best you not tell us of your bite marks.†He Chuckles and bows before the pair and they too became nothing more than air.
The next figure stood in a pose, howling axe drawn in one hand while the other was clenched in a fist. The face shows obvious expressions of war, scarred, torn, and bloody. "Lirshar Goresight, my mate, my love. How we danced around each other for months, lightly tracing our steps. I am proud to be with you, to comfort you. Yet the question still strikes at the back of a head as a nail on wood. Am I worthy to have you? Will I let you down at every turn as Kathorg did or will I persevere? Only time and bonding will tell..." Duron pats Lirshar on the head, smiling weakly as he does so.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The final pair stood tall and proud, one was a tall male orc with less than a hair on his head. In matter of fact he was barely clothed except for a plate-mail set of leg guards, in his hand was an obsidian-headed maul with a shaft made of wood from Ashenvale. Next to the tall Orc was an elderly, frail Orc. Her left arm is missing but the rest of her is covered with an elegant robe of white feathers. "Father, mother. The two spirits that forged my own…I owe you both too much. Not even my thoughts can sum up what I have to share with you father, but perhaps...We will see." He begins to tear, bringing his father into an embrace. He lets out a choked sigh as the next vision fades. He turns and gives his mother the same embrace and her fate the same.
Alone, all alone. Not a soul for you to save, not a soul to save you.
The wind grew violent at a moment's notice, dusts from the memories picked up and formed itself into a being all its own. Monstrosities garbed in torn brown linen, red spikes shooting out from the shoulders. With a wicked grin the beast's words dripped venom. "Death, destruction, woe and sorrow are the seeds you plant in this world! The fruit of your labors...so delicious." Memories begin to surround Duron again, this time by the thousands. Night elves, humans, beasts and Warriors alike appear, faceless. The robed figure finally removed his hood to reveal himself to appear exactly as Duron.
Will I fight the corruption?
The warriors all drew weapons of different size and origins. The robed imitation licked his lips with a forked tongue. “I will take joy, oh so great joy in destroying you from the inside out…†The hood was brought up again by a heavy gust of wind. Not a warrior moved except for Duron who struggled to keep himself up against the gale winds. “Die!â€Â
Or will I feed into it?
They all charged, warrior and woman alike, child and elder all converged on him like a swarm. Biting, slashing, gnawing, carving, bashing.
…And then there were none.
Duron awoke from his meditation covered in a sweat, his body shivering from the breeze. The orange mountains glowed as the first light of dawn broke over the land. He began to rise amongst the small camp in front of him but found he stiff and tired.
Will I live to defend her?
He picks up his hammer with a tired groan, his shoulder and arm producing a ‘crack' sound as he flexed his arm. The subtle sound of unsheathing swords sounded only a few feet back.
I will.