10-07-2012, 01:43 AM
Spoiler:
IC thread for Mahen'tosh's class change from warlock to shaman. Events in this post have all occurred IC with other players. Important participants are mentioned by name.
"...I'm sorry."
Those were the words I was raised to never say. The strength of my people as well as the clan. The person. Should a wrongdoing arise, we do not grovel for forgiveness--we move on to correct the mistake. Grovelling is a sign of weakness, I was brought up. We hold our heads up high, in pride and honor. Even when it came to sin. We certainly bow to those greater than us, especially to the Elements who bestowed us their power and strength. Still, in a world where we must fight every day to survive and belong, to grovel and plead often spells more than just humiliation. It is disgrace. It is dishonor.
I am fully aware not all orcs are brought up this way. The Frostwolves seem to be very different from the Bleeding Hollows, for instance. I do not conglomerate with orcs of other clans beyond Kosh'hargs, and even then, I stayed mostly with my fellow Bleeding Hollows. Still, this belief was instilled in me since childhood, and I held it close to my heart.
But even then, as I have come to accept, times would change, and beliefs would too. I have certainly changed when I met the young draenei building their homes in Nagrand. I have certainly changed when Kilrogg introduced us the Blood of Mannaroth. When the Second War was over and my family and I were interned. When we were freed. Isolated. And when I arrived in Orgrimmar for the first time in my long, weary life.
I am old. Days ago, I have turned eighty-three. No party, no celebration. My grandchildren weren't even present. It matters not; a birthday would only be a reminder of how far and how deep I have come in this dreary life. I had sired my four children--Bragnok, Ta'bak, Sigaw, and Gan'da--when the Chalice of Rebirth was presented to us. I created an army through my children. My beloved, Ka'wal, became one of the Burning Blade. Most of my draenic friends have died. One is now my enemy, a soldier for the Alliance, sworn to avenge her people. And the other... will never cease his mourning of his loss, becoming lost in his walk with the Spirits.
Eighty-three years. I am nowhere as old as my draenei friends, but I feel the wear and tear of age approaching me. I know, for a fact, I do not have long. I wish to stay alive long enough to see my beloved Irsha and Mana'gal bear their own children. I have yet to meet Gortan's son. My grandchildren, bearing their own children... for the better of their future. Our future. For ourselves, our clan, our people... this new Horde. Redemption is within our grasp. Honor shall be restored to us once more. My progeny would then live with peace within themselves, their friends and neighbors, and the Elements around them. Even when I didn't.
Even then, however... heh. Gortan suggested that I return to shamanism. Laughable. I am barely strong enough to walk well on my own two feet without a cane. Yes, I did once carry a centaur and beat another centaur with him... but I broke my back in doing so. Shut up, you didn't hear that from me. Anyway... yes. A return to shamanism. I thought it was preposterous for anyone to think that it is possible, one so old and deep into the fel such as I. And yet... I don't know. My heart felt like it wanted to soar with the possibility that I could be redeemed. That my own honor could be restored. Is it true? Can the Elements of Azeroth accept me as their follower? This... I had to try. I will not give up. I will hold my head up high and return to the path of the Elements. My name is Blindthunder. The cries of lightning will be mine to command once more.
A visit to Thousand Needles. Madugo suggested we commune with the Spirits there. I heard them for the first time there. My heart smiled.
"Speaker of Draenor, have you forgotten our call?"
"Go forth."
"Follow."
"We speak to you, as well. Blindthunder, is it? An esteemed name, to be sure. How did one such as you get a name such as that?"
"Go forth."
"Follow."
"We speak to you, as well. Blindthunder, is it? An esteemed name, to be sure. How did one such as you get a name such as that?"
"I once was connected to the spirits of Draenor. I have cried to them to lend me their power in times of need, even my vision was lost to me. When I summoned the thunder, it quelled my enemies when I was blind."
"And would you need that power now? To summon the spirits to your beck and call?"
"I wish to connect with the spirits of this planet, as it is now my home. I would like to abandon the path of the fel, for it has done nothing but destruction to me and my people."
"Your body is greatly corrupted by the fel. Can such poisoned bodies channel our purity once more?"
"I do not know. I wish that I am to be purified, however. I do not know how."
""... do you not hear us? Feel the beckon? You may once again be able."
"...What must I do?"
"Your body must be cleansed to be a vessel. You have ascended these heights, and so if you wish, the air you breath shall be purified."
It was hard to believe. "I am grateful you are providing me this opportunity. But I am unsure how I can be cleansed."
"Listen well, Blindthunder. The air from your lungs are dirty, impure. It must be drawn out, and you shall breathe anew. But you must face this alone. None may help you, through magic or medicine, as your body will be wracked with pain. Do you accept?"
"...I accept."
"Then go forth on foot. Ready yourself."
"Where?"
"The cliff edge. Watch your step."
"I am here."
"Off the worg. On your own two feet."
I was lead to what felt like the tallest cliff in Thousand Needles. The height was dizzying... but I felt the wind in my hair.
"Breathe anew."
Indeed, I did breathe. The air was warm, comforting. There was no pin-pricking bite the fel-tainted air often had. It made me think of home. The land of winds.
"You are strong willed. In control.... you do your people proud. Your dedication is an example all could learn from."
From then on, I was cleansed... but I was not to use the fel again. Never again. I was willing to go through. I could do this easily, as ever since I was released from Torr, I did not touch the fel. I was ready. I was strong.
No, I was not.
Only a few months after the meeting with the winds of Azeroth, I slipped. I met with Gortan to talk about my progress with returning to shamanism. We were lead into Shadowmoon, to contemplate on our pasts. I had Kapre with me. He was unwell, but he needed company. We are friends. I thought that if I kept him close to me, he'd be safe.
This was not the case.
I slipped. So very irresponsibly. Ghosts were rampant.. well, one was. He was charging at me, sword in hand and ready. It was the First and Second War all over again. A son of Azeroth, Knight of the Silver Hand. He cried his war song as his hooves galloped my way in hopes to pierce me. I raised my hand, calling upon the forces of darkness into my fingertips. The pin-pricking air bit onto my fel-tainted skin, the flames of the fel channelling into my palms. I fired at him. It went through him. A vision. A ghost.
...a failure on my part. The bloodlust was still in me. I cried out furiously at myself. Even my grandson chastised me for my weakness.
How stupid of me.
I meditated. A lot. I prayed hard. I poured my soul to reconnect with the Spirits. I wanted to return. I am remorseful and I want to leave my sins behind.
I stayed in Outland to contemplate some more. To think about not just my past, but the more recent events. Lately, Kapre has been spirit walking some more. Quite frankly... I was jealous. I used to commune with spirits before... now a draenei, of all people, is doing just that. What's next, orcs following the Light? Sheesh.
I have made some new friends recently. Orvisha Lorewolf, a young one. She is companions with this Gantrithor, a draenei. Neither are shamans, but both seem to have high reverence for the Spirits. I stayed with them some. I got to know them. Both hope to follow. I know in my heart, due to their eagerness and good natures, this can be possible. The Spirits smiles upon those who follow them reverently. With peace and humility. I used to have that... but I have failed to turn away from the fel. It is still second nature to me. And now... I am unsure of what to do.
I returned to Shadowmoon. I wanted to think, once more, of what I done. This was where I blew my chance.... but this was also where a second one may come to me.
I saw them. Orvisha, and Xanthe, friend and employee of Kapre. Along with them is a female draenei, one whose name escapes me. I met her once in Shattrath, but I never got her name. Nevertheless, I followed. I was curious. I figured I could contemplate with company around me. We kept walking until we gathered at territory even I was unfamiliar with prior to the explosion of my home planet. Draenic crystals, everywhere. Odd structures. A vast temple. I felt fel taint growing stronger as I approached. I listened closely to my companions. I then learned of what this place was...
Karabor.
It was here that Orvisha, Xanthe, and I were blasted with a vision. A family. A little draenei girl, not much different from sweet little Aria. A loving husband. A tender love. A joy that was destroyed. That we destroyed. That I destroyed. I saw it, through the eyes of one who was once my prey, the loss and destruction of all that was dear. Her daughter. Her husband. Her friends and family. They didn't do anything--they were running from the Burning Legion. We let ourselves be deceived. We destroyed the draenei.
Yet here she is... accepting me with open arms. A pain she shared. A burden that cannot be lifted on her own.
...I understand now. What must be done. This is more than just regaining honor. This is more than just saying a simple apology. There are hearts besides mine that need healing. But... this is a whole people. There are people of mine who would not care about the draenei, or have any regret of what we did in the past. Our fights are our own. The Female has her. And here... I have mine.
Spirits.
I need you.
I need you to heal me... to heal the world I live in. This world I have moved into. The times have changed and come to a point where I am at a road block. I cannot move further except to wither and die in place if I do nothing. The fel has not left me, nor would it ever as long as my skin is tainted green... but I care not for that. I humbly submit myself to you as a servant. I wish to regain honor and redemption, for myself, for everyone and everything I cherish and love.
Please give me the strength to say more than just say "I'm sorry." I must act. Not just talk. I want Mana'gal to have a grandfather she can be proud of. I want Gortan to have a grandfather he can pride himself in. I want Irsha to learn from my mistakes and seek her own path of honor. I want Kapre to be at ease that his wishes and longings for peace is not a wish of his own. I want.... I want... Female. I don't know your name. But I want to help lift that burden of pain from you... as your burden of pain is my burden of guilt. We will be free. We will be strong again.
But I am not strong. Not yet. But even if I am to die tomorrow of old age, it matters not. I am willing to take the first step.
I'm sorry.