02-01-2013, 02:32 PM
OOC: I'd like to use this thread for Asgrends little storyteller personality, since I don't much see me getting a chance to do it in the game world. Far too busy doing other things! I'm planning to use this for versions of warcraft history through Asgrends eyes and some old RP's I did, stories he made up on the spot. Should be fun! Grab a stool, put up a weenie on the fire, and watch out for the wolves. Enjoy the Tales from the Asgrend.
It’s cold. There are wolves right at your feet. You can hear their howls, they're so close! They're just over that ridge, you're sure of it! You seek refuge of any kind. You see a fire out in the distance. Hopefully the fire will ward away the wolves and beasts of the night. You come to the fire but see no one. You approach the blaze to get warm. Suddenly, a pair of blue glowing eyes stare at you. A shiver is sent down your spine and you instinctively reach for a weapon! That’s when you hear his voice, a strange echoing reverb of a thing.
“Settle down, now. You are safe. I’m not a beast. Just a traveller, like you. I offer no quarrel. Please, sit, make yourself warm. The beasts are especially ruthless this night, but will not come to this camp, for they know that a more deadly beast sits at this fire.”
The stranger grabs a log and tosses it onto the flame.
“Who am I? Oh, no one really. Just because I’ve been alive for almost eight hundred years doesn’t mean I’m important. Night elf? No, blood elf. Or, well, just by association. I don’t go to Silvermoon anymore. I haven’t in many years. But enough about me. You look starved half to death! Someone should give you a sandwich once in a while! Please, help yourself to my meal. I don’t each much these days. Or, rather, I don’t need to eat. I guess I eat out of habit. It calms the pains in my stomach. It’s not a hunger pain, you see. It’s more of a battle thirst pain. Eating keeps my mind off of it.”
He leans in closer to the fire. You see him; his skin is black, frostbitten; his hair as blue as ice, his eyebrows long, his face bunched up and staring: He’s a death knight. He may have only lived for eight hundred years, but it’s clear that he’s been busy in those times.
“Yes, I see the look in your eyes. Not many people like my kind. Personally I don’t either. The undead still give me the willies. I guess I just have to get used to it. But I’ll get used to it when I’m damned well ready! How did I get this way? Well, that’s a rather boring tale, isn’t it? I landed onto the shores of old Lordaeron, and got ambushed. Next thing you know, I’m dead. Nothing to it… Hmm… perhaps a different tale would suit you? Well, let me get my pipe here and I’ll think of one for you, since you seem so interested in a story.”
He pulled out a long pipe made from what might be elven wood. He packed it, and held it over the flame. Somehow, the wood did not burn. Perhaps this is the magic of elven wood? Or perhaps he used his death knight ability to keep the wood from burning. Either way… he had his pipe. He leaned back, taking some puffs from it, deep in thought.
“What do you know of the second war? Judging by your look, not much… I was there. My family jumped at the opportunity to work with these strange ape men. Humans are a strange bunch. They’re very noble this and kingly that and my lord this and my liege that… Not very different from us, really. We just happen to live longer. I’ve met humans here and there, but I never had as much contact with them as when I fought with them. Merely a passing sort of thing… but my folks and I usually stuck to Quel’thalas.
“I had never heard of or seen an orc until then. I was busy fighting trolls most of my life, you see. They would come out of the jungles, looking for a fight, and I would be there to swat them away, with my pack. Pack of what? No, no, I call my group of men a pack. We fight and hunt like wolves… But I digress. Orcs, now there was an interesting foe. They fought like demons, swarmed from the hillsides and mountains in great swathes. They were very different from today, you see. You remember the scourge? How could anyone forget…? Well, they fought a bit like them, except with much more cunning and a lot less gruesome. Their dead stayed dead.”
He took another drag, and let out a puff of air. It made an interesting shape of an arrow.
“So, what would you like to hear? How about the ransacking of old Stratholme? Or perhaps of the mighty Grom Hellscream? Or maybe Deathwing? Ah… deathwing… I saw your eye’s light up for a moment. There was a strange opponent… Now let’s see…
“I believe I was under the command of Alleria at the time, the current ranger general. Most elven rangers were. I wasn’t DIRECTLY under her command, you see, I was under the command of a different ranger captain. No one you’ll have heard of. I had just gotten my little ranger stripes at the time. They put face paint on you; it’s how you could tell the rangers and archers apart. See, the difference between an elven archer and an elven ranger is their unique ability to be able to become one with not only their weapons but with their environments. Sure, it’s a natural thing for us elven kind, but it’s the rangers who are different. We KNOW nature, like it’s a second mistress to us.” He made a sort of strange, echoing, rolling noise. It took you a while to realize it was a laugh. “My father has always said I was married to the battlefield. I guess he was right. I’ve never taken a wife. I was too busy fighting. It’s all I care about.
“Ah, but I’ve trailed off again. What was I talking about? Ah, deathwing. Thank you. Now, the orcs were one thing. I never heard of them. Dragons? Well, what elder race doesn’t know them? Deathwing was a new one, though. He was a terrible beast. He had a mask made of iron. It was almost like it was welded onto his face. It was a part of him much like my own face is a part of myself. His voice did the same thing mine did, but it was much deeper and more resonant. When he spoke, and he did speak, you listened. He was one who did not repeat himself. Everyone heard him. He was the one who destroyed old Stormwind, you know? I was there. I never got a chance to fight him, but there were others who brought him down. I saw the winged bastard flop to the ground and writhe with arrows sticking out of him. No me I was busy happily slaying orcs. One of my past times, although it is past now, unless I want to slay black rock orcs. Just not the same, though. I could hear him though. I heard him flying overhead. He made this horrible hiss like a steam engine. He frightens me more than that lich king, I tell you that.
“He was quite the terror, he was. Villages burned in his name. No matter what anyone says, he was the real leader of the horde at that time. When he said jump, the orcs attacked. You could tell. It was just something about the horde and him being around. It seemed like the orcs were always following his shadow.
“I remember the tale of his defeat. They say he went back to fight some archmagi in Dalaran. It must have been a hellish battle, and I can’t imagine that Dalaran went without damage. There had to have been at least a group of them. I don’t know the full details, all I heard is that he went there, some magi fought him, and then he plummeted to the sea. My brother would know better, I believe he was there. I never did ask him.
“But, luckily, he’s dead. I believe he was chased off to outlands, and the last I heard, he was slain. So there’s no need to worry about him coming back.”
He looked up, and blinked a few times. He pointed off in the distance with his pipe.
“Say… what’s that fire over there…?”
It’s cold. There are wolves right at your feet. You can hear their howls, they're so close! They're just over that ridge, you're sure of it! You seek refuge of any kind. You see a fire out in the distance. Hopefully the fire will ward away the wolves and beasts of the night. You come to the fire but see no one. You approach the blaze to get warm. Suddenly, a pair of blue glowing eyes stare at you. A shiver is sent down your spine and you instinctively reach for a weapon! That’s when you hear his voice, a strange echoing reverb of a thing.
“Settle down, now. You are safe. I’m not a beast. Just a traveller, like you. I offer no quarrel. Please, sit, make yourself warm. The beasts are especially ruthless this night, but will not come to this camp, for they know that a more deadly beast sits at this fire.”
The stranger grabs a log and tosses it onto the flame.
“Who am I? Oh, no one really. Just because I’ve been alive for almost eight hundred years doesn’t mean I’m important. Night elf? No, blood elf. Or, well, just by association. I don’t go to Silvermoon anymore. I haven’t in many years. But enough about me. You look starved half to death! Someone should give you a sandwich once in a while! Please, help yourself to my meal. I don’t each much these days. Or, rather, I don’t need to eat. I guess I eat out of habit. It calms the pains in my stomach. It’s not a hunger pain, you see. It’s more of a battle thirst pain. Eating keeps my mind off of it.”
He leans in closer to the fire. You see him; his skin is black, frostbitten; his hair as blue as ice, his eyebrows long, his face bunched up and staring: He’s a death knight. He may have only lived for eight hundred years, but it’s clear that he’s been busy in those times.
“Yes, I see the look in your eyes. Not many people like my kind. Personally I don’t either. The undead still give me the willies. I guess I just have to get used to it. But I’ll get used to it when I’m damned well ready! How did I get this way? Well, that’s a rather boring tale, isn’t it? I landed onto the shores of old Lordaeron, and got ambushed. Next thing you know, I’m dead. Nothing to it… Hmm… perhaps a different tale would suit you? Well, let me get my pipe here and I’ll think of one for you, since you seem so interested in a story.”
He pulled out a long pipe made from what might be elven wood. He packed it, and held it over the flame. Somehow, the wood did not burn. Perhaps this is the magic of elven wood? Or perhaps he used his death knight ability to keep the wood from burning. Either way… he had his pipe. He leaned back, taking some puffs from it, deep in thought.
“What do you know of the second war? Judging by your look, not much… I was there. My family jumped at the opportunity to work with these strange ape men. Humans are a strange bunch. They’re very noble this and kingly that and my lord this and my liege that… Not very different from us, really. We just happen to live longer. I’ve met humans here and there, but I never had as much contact with them as when I fought with them. Merely a passing sort of thing… but my folks and I usually stuck to Quel’thalas.
“I had never heard of or seen an orc until then. I was busy fighting trolls most of my life, you see. They would come out of the jungles, looking for a fight, and I would be there to swat them away, with my pack. Pack of what? No, no, I call my group of men a pack. We fight and hunt like wolves… But I digress. Orcs, now there was an interesting foe. They fought like demons, swarmed from the hillsides and mountains in great swathes. They were very different from today, you see. You remember the scourge? How could anyone forget…? Well, they fought a bit like them, except with much more cunning and a lot less gruesome. Their dead stayed dead.”
He took another drag, and let out a puff of air. It made an interesting shape of an arrow.
“So, what would you like to hear? How about the ransacking of old Stratholme? Or perhaps of the mighty Grom Hellscream? Or maybe Deathwing? Ah… deathwing… I saw your eye’s light up for a moment. There was a strange opponent… Now let’s see…
“I believe I was under the command of Alleria at the time, the current ranger general. Most elven rangers were. I wasn’t DIRECTLY under her command, you see, I was under the command of a different ranger captain. No one you’ll have heard of. I had just gotten my little ranger stripes at the time. They put face paint on you; it’s how you could tell the rangers and archers apart. See, the difference between an elven archer and an elven ranger is their unique ability to be able to become one with not only their weapons but with their environments. Sure, it’s a natural thing for us elven kind, but it’s the rangers who are different. We KNOW nature, like it’s a second mistress to us.” He made a sort of strange, echoing, rolling noise. It took you a while to realize it was a laugh. “My father has always said I was married to the battlefield. I guess he was right. I’ve never taken a wife. I was too busy fighting. It’s all I care about.
“Ah, but I’ve trailed off again. What was I talking about? Ah, deathwing. Thank you. Now, the orcs were one thing. I never heard of them. Dragons? Well, what elder race doesn’t know them? Deathwing was a new one, though. He was a terrible beast. He had a mask made of iron. It was almost like it was welded onto his face. It was a part of him much like my own face is a part of myself. His voice did the same thing mine did, but it was much deeper and more resonant. When he spoke, and he did speak, you listened. He was one who did not repeat himself. Everyone heard him. He was the one who destroyed old Stormwind, you know? I was there. I never got a chance to fight him, but there were others who brought him down. I saw the winged bastard flop to the ground and writhe with arrows sticking out of him. No me I was busy happily slaying orcs. One of my past times, although it is past now, unless I want to slay black rock orcs. Just not the same, though. I could hear him though. I heard him flying overhead. He made this horrible hiss like a steam engine. He frightens me more than that lich king, I tell you that.
“He was quite the terror, he was. Villages burned in his name. No matter what anyone says, he was the real leader of the horde at that time. When he said jump, the orcs attacked. You could tell. It was just something about the horde and him being around. It seemed like the orcs were always following his shadow.
“I remember the tale of his defeat. They say he went back to fight some archmagi in Dalaran. It must have been a hellish battle, and I can’t imagine that Dalaran went without damage. There had to have been at least a group of them. I don’t know the full details, all I heard is that he went there, some magi fought him, and then he plummeted to the sea. My brother would know better, I believe he was there. I never did ask him.
“But, luckily, he’s dead. I believe he was chased off to outlands, and the last I heard, he was slain. So there’s no need to worry about him coming back.”
He looked up, and blinked a few times. He pointed off in the distance with his pipe.
“Say… what’s that fire over there…?”