03-06-2011, 09:42 PM
“Lok'tar Ogar! Victory or Death! These are the words that bind my life to The Horde! I live by them and I'll die by them!â€Â
The weakened spirit champion looked to his left and right. The warrior that had stood to his left was gone, fleeing after receiving a barrage of arrows. The warrior to his right had already been brought down, looking dead already. Yet still in front of Duron were about eight alliance members. Make that eight –angry- looking alliance members. The closest one was a young-appearing Kal'dorei by the name of Syana whom had her sword already pointed for the orc's neck. Eventually he was beat down, knocked to a daze by the strikes of a hammer. His breath grew slow and choppy as roots began to constrict his neck.
Confusion followed. He felt a calming feeling as his wounds sealed as one of the humans were healing him, yet on the other hand he still felt the roots trying to snap his neck. Duron just laid there limb, hearing the arguments of the elves that want him dead to the humans that want him alive. Eventually the roots gave way and Duron stood on his own free will, using his sword as a crutch.
“You Alliance… have no sense… of friend…. or foe…†Duron coughed out, still clutching his chest.
Syana spoke out in reply to him, with the strongest voice a female elf could muster. “Orc. You fought honorably. I give you the chance to rest and heal os that you may die to me in a duel of honor.†Duron growled and snarled, glaring death at her. “I die… in war… not useless… combat…†He managed to bark out before going into a fit of coughing, ending it with spitting out a wad of congealed blood.
She looked over her shoulder towards her allies and snickered. She looked back to Duron and yelled out so that all could hear. “Friends. It looks like this orc wants to die. Attack!†Duron's eyes widened as the elf drew her blade across his neck, making a clear cut.
He fell forward, crimson pouring out from the fresh wound in his neck. At first he collapses to his knees, desperately trying to cover the wound, but his arms fell weak as he slammed down on the ground into a pool of his own blood. Syana picked up her blade and drove it straight through his neck, yet on Duron's face a smile formed. “Lok'….tar…â€Â
He died, but the smile remained.
The warrior to his right, Zaeroth, stirred from his forced rest to look upon Duron freshly slain and left to rot. He glared at the corpse for a few moments before snarling out a guttural roar. When his rage subdued he took the Spirit Champion and returned to Splintertree.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Duron walked across the beaten path, not quite sure how he got there, but just becoming consious of him being there. He looked up in front of him to notice a large gate. Posted upon the gates were the banners from ever orcish clan, small or large. He gazed upon the door for a few moments before treading towards it slowly. The gate begins to open, standing behind it was Duron's Grandfather.
"Where do you think you're going?" asked the elderly shaman, crossing his arms as Duron attempted to enter.
Duron halted in his step and looked up. "What do you mean...? I've passed in service of The Horde." His voice is low and full of pride.
"Really? Is that what that was? I was watching, you know." the shaman's eyes narrow behind his wolf mask.
"All I saw was you getting your throat cut for some skirmish."
"I died defending my allies which managed to flee with their lives. I wasn't able to take on all eight elves at once, correct, but damnit I died trying."
"Pah! Worthless. Pah!" spat the elder. "Your father got went down to those elves too. Probably shot in the back. At least he died in a battle, and not gettin' his throat slit."
"Did you not see the fighting that ensured by the three orcs before I was executed?"
"I'm not talking to them! I don't care if they were carving up a pit lord or tap dancing on that Garrosh kid's thick skull, they aren't -MY- blood."
Duron sighs and slouches. "What will the spirits have me do then? I may be dead but I am a spirit Champion none the less..."
"Well THIS spirit is gonna have you wait here until someone finds that body of yours." replied the shaman with a grunt.
Duron sighs. "If you saw my battle, can you still see my body then?"
"..." The shaman shrugs. "Nah. You were kinda my link into the world, and all."
Duron face palms. "Great...Wait. Aren't there any rules for haunting or something? Anything?"
"You're not haunting, you're going back up.Eventually."
"Can I at least get in before they revive me? Say 'hi's and all that?"
"... No. There's nothing of interest in there. At all." Stated the orc, rising up a pillar of rock behind him.
"...What in Koris' hammer am I going to do till then!? What if no one ever bothers to revive me?"
"Then it's gonna be a long afterlife, kid."
Duron groans. "Great..." He then gets a somewhat fearful expression. "...I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do to Lirshar."
"Yeah. It's gonna be fun, I'm sure."
Varges shifts his weight, glancing back as some commotion came behind the stone barrier. Sounds like a party in there.
Duron shifts a few times as well. "What's going on?"
"I already told you, it's nothing of your concern." replied the orc firmly once more. "Now go take a seat n' wait or something."
Duron grumbles and sits in the grass bordering the path. "... Crap."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Splitertree was alive with excitement. Men were sparring fiercely against each other while women prepared their best armor. For warlord Garin Elfcleaver came upon the small post. The ladies swooned over his Black and Gold armor, men stood in marvel of the two armed demolishers that he brought with him to the post. On each of his arms was a guard, clad in the same black and gold armor that covered him. The Warlord marched past the small crowd that had amassed and headed straight for the inn. Upon removing his helm he was greeted kindly by the innkeeper before he spared a moment to look about the small cluttered inn. He marched past occupied beds and open hammocks to a small crevice in the stone wall where Duron's corpse laid in temporary rest. The body was cleaned of blood, his previous trappings were replaced with a clean red sheet. Lying next to the deceased was a set of lit candles, left by nameless friends. Garin looked down upon him and kneeled.
“Bloodaxe.†He snarled. “An honorable fighter. A valuable warrior, at least for when he was around…†Garin observed the body, running his armored hand along Duron's markings for a moment before he snapped it back. The large orc sat there in thought and reverence for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, speaking in a stern voice. “Zaka, prepare a set of armor and gather the shamans. Bring both to our operations in Orgrimmar.†He swung his head to the other shoulder. “Garka, send word to the Goresight. Lirshar is going to want to know.†He looked back forward before he stood up, taking the corpse up with him. He spoke out.
“Bloodaxe will live to serve the Horde once more.â€Â
Killer: Syana + Backup elves
Rezzer: Hellforged Shaman
Effects:
Short-Term:
Phlegm – The blood that had gathered in Duron's throat has hardened and caused a reaction where bodily fluids have built up, causing his voice to become stuffed and at times he will find it hard to breathe.
Weakness – After shutting down for a week and lying inactive, his body has begun to break down muscle. Because of the inactivity, his joints have begun to stiffen as well, overall making it hard for Duron to move.
Long-Term/Permanent
Will of the Spirits – Duron views his deaths as because of his own poor choices. Yet now with an even stronger connection with the spirits, Duron places full reliance on them in combat. Whither it be to flee, attack, defend, or never back down. He is their weapon and nothing more.
Respiratory Weakness – Once his throat was opened by a sword, it, as well as the muscles associated with it, have been severely damaged. The skin has become soft and he is vulnerable for Respiratory Failure if the system is placed under too much stress.
The weakened spirit champion looked to his left and right. The warrior that had stood to his left was gone, fleeing after receiving a barrage of arrows. The warrior to his right had already been brought down, looking dead already. Yet still in front of Duron were about eight alliance members. Make that eight –angry- looking alliance members. The closest one was a young-appearing Kal'dorei by the name of Syana whom had her sword already pointed for the orc's neck. Eventually he was beat down, knocked to a daze by the strikes of a hammer. His breath grew slow and choppy as roots began to constrict his neck.
Confusion followed. He felt a calming feeling as his wounds sealed as one of the humans were healing him, yet on the other hand he still felt the roots trying to snap his neck. Duron just laid there limb, hearing the arguments of the elves that want him dead to the humans that want him alive. Eventually the roots gave way and Duron stood on his own free will, using his sword as a crutch.
“You Alliance… have no sense… of friend…. or foe…†Duron coughed out, still clutching his chest.
Syana spoke out in reply to him, with the strongest voice a female elf could muster. “Orc. You fought honorably. I give you the chance to rest and heal os that you may die to me in a duel of honor.†Duron growled and snarled, glaring death at her. “I die… in war… not useless… combat…†He managed to bark out before going into a fit of coughing, ending it with spitting out a wad of congealed blood.
She looked over her shoulder towards her allies and snickered. She looked back to Duron and yelled out so that all could hear. “Friends. It looks like this orc wants to die. Attack!†Duron's eyes widened as the elf drew her blade across his neck, making a clear cut.
He fell forward, crimson pouring out from the fresh wound in his neck. At first he collapses to his knees, desperately trying to cover the wound, but his arms fell weak as he slammed down on the ground into a pool of his own blood. Syana picked up her blade and drove it straight through his neck, yet on Duron's face a smile formed. “Lok'….tar…â€Â
He died, but the smile remained.
The warrior to his right, Zaeroth, stirred from his forced rest to look upon Duron freshly slain and left to rot. He glared at the corpse for a few moments before snarling out a guttural roar. When his rage subdued he took the Spirit Champion and returned to Splintertree.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Duron walked across the beaten path, not quite sure how he got there, but just becoming consious of him being there. He looked up in front of him to notice a large gate. Posted upon the gates were the banners from ever orcish clan, small or large. He gazed upon the door for a few moments before treading towards it slowly. The gate begins to open, standing behind it was Duron's Grandfather.
"Where do you think you're going?" asked the elderly shaman, crossing his arms as Duron attempted to enter.
Duron halted in his step and looked up. "What do you mean...? I've passed in service of The Horde." His voice is low and full of pride.
"Really? Is that what that was? I was watching, you know." the shaman's eyes narrow behind his wolf mask.
"All I saw was you getting your throat cut for some skirmish."
"I died defending my allies which managed to flee with their lives. I wasn't able to take on all eight elves at once, correct, but damnit I died trying."
"Pah! Worthless. Pah!" spat the elder. "Your father got went down to those elves too. Probably shot in the back. At least he died in a battle, and not gettin' his throat slit."
"Did you not see the fighting that ensured by the three orcs before I was executed?"
"I'm not talking to them! I don't care if they were carving up a pit lord or tap dancing on that Garrosh kid's thick skull, they aren't -MY- blood."
Duron sighs and slouches. "What will the spirits have me do then? I may be dead but I am a spirit Champion none the less..."
"Well THIS spirit is gonna have you wait here until someone finds that body of yours." replied the shaman with a grunt.
Duron sighs. "If you saw my battle, can you still see my body then?"
"..." The shaman shrugs. "Nah. You were kinda my link into the world, and all."
Duron face palms. "Great...Wait. Aren't there any rules for haunting or something? Anything?"
"You're not haunting, you're going back up.Eventually."
"Can I at least get in before they revive me? Say 'hi's and all that?"
"... No. There's nothing of interest in there. At all." Stated the orc, rising up a pillar of rock behind him.
"...What in Koris' hammer am I going to do till then!? What if no one ever bothers to revive me?"
"Then it's gonna be a long afterlife, kid."
Duron groans. "Great..." He then gets a somewhat fearful expression. "...I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do to Lirshar."
"Yeah. It's gonna be fun, I'm sure."
Varges shifts his weight, glancing back as some commotion came behind the stone barrier. Sounds like a party in there.
Duron shifts a few times as well. "What's going on?"
"I already told you, it's nothing of your concern." replied the orc firmly once more. "Now go take a seat n' wait or something."
Duron grumbles and sits in the grass bordering the path. "... Crap."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Splitertree was alive with excitement. Men were sparring fiercely against each other while women prepared their best armor. For warlord Garin Elfcleaver came upon the small post. The ladies swooned over his Black and Gold armor, men stood in marvel of the two armed demolishers that he brought with him to the post. On each of his arms was a guard, clad in the same black and gold armor that covered him. The Warlord marched past the small crowd that had amassed and headed straight for the inn. Upon removing his helm he was greeted kindly by the innkeeper before he spared a moment to look about the small cluttered inn. He marched past occupied beds and open hammocks to a small crevice in the stone wall where Duron's corpse laid in temporary rest. The body was cleaned of blood, his previous trappings were replaced with a clean red sheet. Lying next to the deceased was a set of lit candles, left by nameless friends. Garin looked down upon him and kneeled.
“Bloodaxe.†He snarled. “An honorable fighter. A valuable warrior, at least for when he was around…†Garin observed the body, running his armored hand along Duron's markings for a moment before he snapped it back. The large orc sat there in thought and reverence for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, speaking in a stern voice. “Zaka, prepare a set of armor and gather the shamans. Bring both to our operations in Orgrimmar.†He swung his head to the other shoulder. “Garka, send word to the Goresight. Lirshar is going to want to know.†He looked back forward before he stood up, taking the corpse up with him. He spoke out.
“Bloodaxe will live to serve the Horde once more.â€Â
Killer: Syana + Backup elves
Rezzer: Hellforged Shaman
Effects:
Short-Term:
Phlegm – The blood that had gathered in Duron's throat has hardened and caused a reaction where bodily fluids have built up, causing his voice to become stuffed and at times he will find it hard to breathe.
Weakness – After shutting down for a week and lying inactive, his body has begun to break down muscle. Because of the inactivity, his joints have begun to stiffen as well, overall making it hard for Duron to move.
Long-Term/Permanent
Will of the Spirits – Duron views his deaths as because of his own poor choices. Yet now with an even stronger connection with the spirits, Duron places full reliance on them in combat. Whither it be to flee, attack, defend, or never back down. He is their weapon and nothing more.
Respiratory Weakness – Once his throat was opened by a sword, it, as well as the muscles associated with it, have been severely damaged. The skin has become soft and he is vulnerable for Respiratory Failure if the system is placed under too much stress.
