Soul of the Elements [Elemental Transcendent]

[Hawk]

Soul of the Elements

This storyline contains Draknir's journey to becoming an Elemental Transcendent. This post doesn't actually serve much purpose other than a place to list all the posts and maybe add an art gallery of some sort in my previous attempt to get a Prestige class. Please send any comments in a PM.


EDIT: March 3rd 2012

Because the Prestige system has been abolished, none of this has happened IC. Any further posts from this point are only for writing purposes and should not be treated as fact. I'm writing only for my own entertainment, and hopefully that of others.

Chronicles of a Transcendent



Chapter 1 - The Prison of Gar'muil
Chapter 2 - Black Lashes
Chapter 3 - A Search For Allies
Chapter 4 - Plots and Whispers
Chapter 5 - Broken Chains
Chapter 6 - Divided Heart
Chapter 7 - The Province of Earth
Chapter 8 - The Fire Realm

[Hawk]

Chapter 1

The Prison of Gar'muil

A few months ago...



The Barrens was quiet on a shining afternoon, as always. The lions were hunting, the plainstriders were fleeing. The Quilboar were brooding and pillaging whilst the zhevra trotted along, nibbling on the dried grass that protruded out of the thirsty earth. However, the beaten path was not so silent. A rugged Orc, taller than many of his kin he came across, carried his muscular body with pride as he wordlessly marched down the road. His back was only slightly arched and his head was held high. Beads of sweat were producing at the tip of his brow as the scorching sun was beating down on his face. The Orc was bearing the weight of full plate armour that had a grey hue with countless scratches and dents from conflicts. A thick shield rested on his back and a sharpened axe was attached to his belt. His eyes looked dead ahead across the road.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Every time his sabatons hit the ground it seemed to start a chain reaction of noise from the armour. But he didn't seem to care. Indeed, months worth of marching and the sound had begun to be as natural as the wind sweeping through the skies. For a moment, he paused. A great hill was to his right... he was in no rush. With a loose shrug he trekked up the hill with slow steps, for the plate armour seemed to have a mind of its own - it wanted to drag him back down to the even ground. When he made it to the top, he began dismantling his plate armour. He needed the freedom. With his legs crossed, he sealed his eyes closed and a rare thing occurred - for once, Draknir took a moment of peace for himself.

"Lok'tar ogar..."

He had said those words a hundred times, and he would probably say them another thousand. It had only just dawned on him... had he truly meant them? Was victory or death a warcry he was prepared to fulfil? He was not afraid of death, but he knew every time he would say it that he'd run the risk of never achieving his dream. To be welcomed as a war hero in the gates of Orgrimmar. To sit amongst powerful veterans and be counted as one of the greatest warriors. He was proud to serve The Horde... but was always wanting to do more.

More thoughts ran through his head. By the time he opened his eyes, the sun was beginning to sink beyond the horizon. He blinked.

"... time flies, as they say."



Speaking of time... it was the right moment to leave. His son was probably wondering where he was. As he descended down the mountain and continued down the road to the Durotar bridge, he noticed figures moving down the same path. There was a mixture - Two Humans, a Forsaken and a Blood Elf. An unusual combination, but Ratchet was full of unusual people. Though there was a problem. The road back to Ratchet was the other way. And he noticed the glances he got from all four of them. They were lacking in subtlety.

Instinctively, he held a hand near his axe. His eyes narrowed as he walked past them. He gave them a nod. They responded and looked back forward. Draknir spotted weapons on their persons. And suddenly, the familiar sound of ringing blades blasted against his ears and the shadows were not a comforting sight. The Orc hastily unclipped his axe and shield, holding them defensively in front of him. He was surrounded.

"Common thieves attempting to rob lone wanderers, are we?" Draknir sneered. "A pity none of you are extinct yet."

"We're not here for your gold, Orc. We're here for your freedom!" The Elf retorted before deftly swinging his blade.

The sound of steel upon steel felt like music to Draknir's ears. It never failed to set his heart to racing from adrenaline. The Elf was rather small compared to Draknir and considerably less heavy. When they clashed, all it took from the Orc was a strong shove of his shield to send him stumbling away. Draknir smirked. The now furious Elf turned about and shrieked to his companions, and hell broke loose.

And once again, Draknir would yell the words Lok'tar Ogar to his enemies as he tightly clenched onto his weapons. A Human wielding a claymore attempted to bring it down onto Draknir's skull, but his shield would prove valuable once again as protected himself. Briefly lowering it, he spun and sliced the axe across the Human swine's chest. He knew he was surrounded. He had to somehow have his eyes everywhere at once. When he looked around, suddenly there was a Forsaken wielding wicked daggers before him. His hands were deft and his movements were quick. Several jabs in quick succession were absorbed by plate, but a few had managed to puncture through a weak point.

The battle waged on. Vast amounts of blows and hits were exchanged on both sides, and before Draknir finally went down, he managed to behead one of the Humans and watch his ugly head roll down the hill with a look of anguish frozen on it's features. Though it was only a couple of seconds before he felt a needle being driven through his neck, and the effects of the toxins were almost instant. He collapsed into unconsciousness.



Hours later, he woke up on a cold, stone floor. His vision was blurred, but he could've sworn he saw a rat sniffing at his face. The timid vermin fled out of sight when the suddenly moving orc lazily waved it away with a giant green hand. A groggy groan escaped him as he steadily got into his feet, rubbing his eyes. After his vision cleared up, he wrapped his fingers around the rusted iron bars that were in front of him. He was in a jail cell. From what he could see out the bars, he was in a prison block of some sort. He hadn't the faintest clue where he was. As he turned his head, his eyes narrowed as he felt something at the back of his neck.

He reached for it, but suddenly a voice came from nowhere.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you..."

Draknir blinked and turned around. On the opposite side of the cell was another Orc. The pair both had demin blue overalls on, and with a number stitched onto their chest. Draknir was 604, however this Orc was 78. He was obviously here for a long time. The stranger, coincidentally, had the same height and build as Draknir. A trio of long white braids that was almost reaching the floor was flowing freely from the back of his skull, but the thing that immediately struck Draknir were his blue eyes.

The stranger, who had yet to give any information, merely gave his new cellmate a smirk. "Welcome to hell, my friend. Otherwise known as Prison Gar'muil."

[Hawk]

Chapter 2

Black Lashes

Within the confinements of jail, Draknir was thinking he had strayed into dream for a moment. Much to his dismay, he realised he was in reality. The stone floor was still cold and aged, the mere tattered rags that were used for prisoners to sleep on were indeed coarse and frayed, and the obvious fact that there was no possible way of escaping was abundantly clear. Even the barred window at the height of the wall was out of reach.

Despite the welcome from the stranger, the words did little to comfort him. Nor did they answer the dozens of questions and thoughts running through his mind. The blue-eyed Orc seemed to sense this, but he just stared Draknir down and waited for the questions to burst forth with his broad arms folded across his chest. He was sat on a wide bench made of wood, but from its condition, it probably wouldn't be used for sitting on any time soon. For a moment, there was silence. Before finally, one of them spoke.

"Throm'ka. My name is Draknir Blackeye, elder." And with this, the Draknir made a slight bow.

The Orc's brow perked in surprise. Even in this hellhole, the new arrival still held manners, calm, and more importantly... respect. He liked that, judging from the smirk on his face. "You may call me Lorkosh. Sit yourself down. I can see you're tired."

Admittedly, there wasn't anywhere -to- sit down save for the floor, but he took it regardless. He exhaled deeply as he rested his head against the wall.

"Now that we have the pleasantries out the way, Draknir... I'm sure you have many questions. But before you begin... know that you aren't the first guest to enter my humble cell. I will hopefully answer the questions I can confidently say are vast in amount and eager to be let loose. Am I correct?"

Draknir blinked. The fact that many had apparently walked in through the cell he was sitting in had bothered him, but he nodded to Lorkosh. "You are. At your own pace, elder."

Lorkosh took in a breath. "Where you are... I can't really say. I believe we are on an island somewhere that's close to Kalimdor. You are being held captive by a branch from the Twilight's Hammer Clan of all people..."

... did he say... Twilight's Hammer?


"Why you are here? I wish I knew. I'm tempted to say slave labour, but I think you and I both know that there's always a reason behind everything those cultists do. You've been unconscious for a day before you woke up. We are let out only to be taken outside and forced to do work. Food and drink is passed through the bars. That object on the back of your neck is to prevent you casting spells - though I can tell by the way you stand you're a warrior. They don't take risks..."

Draknir was still trying to process all the information. Captured by the Twilight's Hammer Clan for no reason? Forced to work? Anti-magic precautions? It made no sense, but Lorkosh was still talking. The next words were said with a deep frown and something else... sympathy.

"New arrivals here are subject to torture until they're convinced they have nothing useful to confess. Regardless of if you do or don't... you're still contained here. They will be here very soon."

Torture. Just what the place needed to spice things up. It soon clicked in Draknir's head where all of Lorkosh's other "guests" went. "... they don't survive, I assume?"

Lorkosh shook his head. "Some. Not many... but I see something in you, young Blackeye. I have faith you'll return here. Even though I'd rather wish it was elsewhere." The elder had a small smile break through his features. The attempt to help increase Draknir's morale had helped... though not enough. He couldn't tell if he had that that to all the others.

Half an hour of silence had passed. The loud crash of a door slamming put the conversation to a grinding halt. Plate boots stomping against the floor had caused Draknir's heart rate swiftly increase. The Orc stood up, giving Lorkosh a final nod before he waited for whoever was coming. On the opposite side of the bar were two armed guards and a masked, tall Human. He glared at Lorkosh. "To the back of the room, old man..." he spat out.

Lorkosh growled as he moved back, watching as his new friend was seized. He could only heave a sigh and await the outcome...

* * *

Two shackles hung from above, biting into Draknir's wrists. His ankles were bound by another pair of shackles chained to a large, bloodstained block of rusted metal that had some mechanism built into the centre which had allowed it to be rotated on whim. The Orc was facing a wall, unable to see anyone. Then again, he was barely able to see anything to begin with. There was nothing but darkness' embrace. He attempted to break the chains, but it was no use. He wasn't getting out of this one... all he could do was suffer the pain and try not to let them enjoy it. He uttered a short, quick prayer for the spirits to give him strength.

Light had entered the room now - as did the Human who escorted him to the dungeon with a pair of guards holding up torches. Draknir noticed he was stripped of clothing save for some brown trousers and there were various instruments of agony surrounding him. Once again the Human came to face Draknir. He was holding a whip with five tails.

"May the mound be our beginning of the path, but a mountain be made from it." The Human said it if preached from a holy book and memorised flawlessly.

Draknir peered at him as he said the words. "... are they meant to mean something to me?"

"As one of the people who knew the man who once said it, I was hoping you would tell me." He hissed. The whip he was clutching onto was slowly being engulfed by a coiling shadow.

"... I know nothing of what you speak of... and judging from the emptiness of the place, it seems as though you've killed many of the people who said the same..."

The Human grinned. "Then let's see if we can't get anything else out of that sly tongue of yours before this is over. We call this "The black lashes." No blood is shed, but when the whip cracks, the pain will last tenfold..."

The whip was raised, and the first lash was inflicted. Draknir winced, but did nothing else. On his back, the mark left wasn't a bleeding crimson, but a black crack that seemed scorched onto his skin. The pain wasn't going away. The whip was raised, the sound of it was like peeled lightning. The sound was crisp, pressed right into his ear, but the more frequently it came, the more it was dreaded for the torment that it brought was slowly escalating. Ten wounds had been totalled, but Draknir had yet to cry out in pain.

"Anything to say yet?"

"I'll see you in hell, human dog!"

The tool of suffering cracked once again. And again. And again... By the twenty-sixth, Draknir had roared out in pain and every muscle in his body was tensed, his entire body rumbling. His chains was the thunder, the whip was the lightning. The storm of affliction was yet to die down. Every few moments, a question was asked. He bellowed he didn't know the answer, but it never stopped them.

"What about now?!"

"I... do not know... who these people are... I've told you be--"

He was cut short.

The torture wouldn't stop until another visitor came in through the door. He wasn't seen, only heard. It sounded like a Blood Elf, but he couldn't hear him too well over his gasps for air.

"How many has he suffered?"

"Seventy-nine... but I can easily make it a hundred." The Human's hand was raised, but interrupted with an iron grip from the new stranger.

"No. It's clear he knows nothing... take him back to his cell..."


The broken Orc was unchained. He offered no resistance, easily being dragged by his arms in the hands of two guards. Once they had reached the top they had thrown him into his cell, giving the once resting Lorkosh a grunt before moving away. The Orc eagerly checked Draknir. Nearly his entire body was grotesquely adorned in black markings... but he was breathing. He had survived, which was more than he could say for the others who came in. The last thing Draknir saw was his friend inspecting him, for he had no strength for words and he slipped into unconsciousness.

What kind of madness had he gotten into?

[Hawk]

Chapter 3

A Search for Allies

Pain.

It was all the beaten Orc was feeling when his eyes opened at the crack of dawn. He was sprawled across the floor, his body seemed almost stuck to it. He wasn't moving anytime soon, for he didn't have the strength to get himself up. Only a couple of hours sleep had been obtained, his bruised limbs had made resting a difficult talk. For the next few hours, all he could do was watch the light creeping through the prison bars shift across the cell, and wait for what would await him. From what he had gathered in his short time here... whatever it was, it certainly would not be pleasant.

Opposite him, he heard Lorkosh yawn and stretch as he awoke from his slumber. From the sounds of it, he had a nice sleep.

Lucky bastard.

The old Orc eyed Draknir, barely managing to tell if he was awake or not. The wounds had not improved. The streaks of black running all over Draknir had been complimented with sore flesh surrounding them that had turned red raw. Lorkosh was kneeling beside him, watching over him like he was a wolf protecting the cub. Eventually, he spoke.

"You did well, Draknir... you survived. You may not be wishing it right now, but you have endured what many could not. That takes strength, my friend. You're alive."

"I... I'm not feeling like... I'm alive, Lorkosh..." A groan escaped him. He tried again to get up, but he quickly just dropped. He couldn't stand being so... helpless.

"Do not try get up... it just makes it worse. If it's any worth to you, it's roughly 8 in the morning. There is some good news in this, though. You won't be made to work today. At least they have some sense that you would be a poor labourer in this state."

Draknir merely gave the slightest of nods before sighing. It felt as if his lungs were sinking. To pierce the silence was a very loud bell ringing throughout the corridors. The rest of the prisoners had reacted to this, almost immediately getting to their feet and waiting. Lorkosh and Draknir's cell was opened by guards along with many others.

"I will see if I can get you some food..."

With that, Draknir was left alone in his cell. Despite no one within hearing range, he wouldn't allow himself to let out the roar he had been holding in for so long. Lorkosh returned within the hour, but Draknir still couldn't move. Perhaps it was the foul magic coursing through his veins that was crippling him... but he hated every moment.

He hated the Clan.

He hated sleeping on the floor like a soiled dog.

He hated being caged.

He wouldn't allow any damned cultist to leave this wretched place alive... These stone halls would be stained crimson by the time he left.

* * *

A week had passed. Draknir's burden had finally been lifted. They dispelled the shadow magic, the blackness on his skin reduced to a mere memory. His skin was still red and his bones ached from lack of movement, but he was eventually allowed outside. Chained up with other prisoners, he ventured into the forests under the undying watch of reavers and he was tasked with chopping down mighty trees. Despite his best efforts, he didn't seem to find any way of escaping, and he figured he wasn't the only one who realised this when they were put to work. He could just about see the top of a wall, and it didn't help that whenever he looked at something that wasn't a tree or the axe he was holding, he was punched in the gut and told to get back to work. For now, he simply had to do as he was told.

An event had occurred that had put the day to a grinding halt. Draknir turned around as he heard a Tauren yell as he got shocked, before suddenly violence has erupted like a fiery volcano. The Tauren was a beast, and from the scars on his body he looked like a Bone Crusher. His fur was a dulled grey, and his gaze would make a normal man whimper and look away. The mountain of a Tauren swung colossal fists towards a guard, knocking him at least 15 feet away and killing him. He shattered his chains as if it were paper and went into a rampage. Every guard that even dared oppose the monster was demolished or literally ripped to pieces. Shadow magic was used to subdue him, and Draknir had managed to catch a glimpse of where he was taken. Something was off, though... why did no other prisoners assist him? Not a single prisoner here was weak. All of them were hardened warriors. If the Tauren had the nerve to do it... why did no one else? Though his questions had gone unanswered, everyone was ordered to get back to work as quickly as they stopped.

The day was long, boring, and exhausting. The prisoners were not permitted to speak to one another, so there was no time for socialising. The only break they were given was to eat. Draknir had began to wonder if you could even call it food - it looked and tasted like shit, and it was all they were allowed. When nightfall came, everyone was herded back into their cell like cattle. The doors were locked shut, and runes that were glowing like the white lady in the sky were set up at the entrances, unbeknownst to the prisoners.

"... Lorkosh... I have a question of you."

The Orc, who was sitting up against the wall, just looked at him. "And that is?"

"The ones who strike the guards... where do they go?" Draknir shuffled closer and lowered his voice.

Lorkosh raised a brow. "They are taken underneath the fortress and disciplined. A first offense is having to work even after dusk. A second offense is torture. A third is having something cut off."

"You've been there?"

"...yes. Twice. I never got to kill one of them... and I did not want to lose my leg." He replied. "Why do you ask?"

Draknir turned about and stared up at the ceiling. He smirked. "I'm going to be making some friends..."

[Hawk]

Chapter 4

Plots and Whispers

"Get back to work, useless slave!"


The morning had kicked off early this day. The cultists seemed to have something going on behind closed doors. The entire prison block was emptied, and it was only until now Draknir realised just how little people there were. He had been given overalls labelled 604, and from this, he had only assumed the place was a lot more crowded... but when they were all rounded up, there must have been no more than 120 prisoners in total. Perhaps the torture had simply been killing them off. They were forced to work underneath an orange sun and yawning clouds slowly drifting across the sky. A beautiful sunrise. It reminded him of his past, where he often woke up early to watch the sun awake from its dormancy. Now the tranquil image had been shattered underneath the iron fist of his captors.

As he looked around, Draknir soon realised how so many of his fellow captives had lost their spirit. With nearly 500 of the ones who came now dead and no way of escaping, it was no surprise how quickly their morale had dwindled. But he knew there were some who had remained eager to escape like he was, and he knew just how to reach them. It was time to strike whilst the iron was hot, and not to let a crucial moment go by. Lorkosh seemed strangely unwilling to help Draknir, though he didn't try to stop him either. He waited until a guard had stopped walking by before hastily whispering.

"I know you do not want to help me, Lorkosh. That is your choice. I, however, am not going to end up like the rest of these people. I will see you soon... and if I don't, I thank you for all you have done for me. May the spirits watch over you."

"... and you as well, young Blackeye. Try not to get yourself killed."

Draknir and Lorkosh gave each other a nod in farewell, before he prepared to be taken away. Deliberately waiting for another guard to come by, he went to have a rest with his axe in his hand. He was noticed, and a heavily plated Human wearing the colours of The Twilight's Hammer marched over to him. The guard was slow, and he was lugging around a massive hammer. The Orc waited...

"Oi, worm! Git up!"

The Human gave him a kick. Draknir grunted, but he did no more than that.

"I said... GET. UP! NOW!"

Another plated boot, this time to the gut. The guard was hot-headed... perfect bait. Draknir was watching his every move with a relentless gaze, waiting for the opportune moment. The man was quick to unclip the hammer from his back, and with a growl, he held it up threateningly. Upon seeing no reaction, he was getting ready to bring it crashing down onto him.

"YOU WORTHLESS MAGGOT!" He roared before the steel weapon was raised into the air.

Within the second his defence was lowered, Draknir immediately took up his axe and swung for the gap in the Human's helmet. With nothing weighing him down, Draknir was able to react much quicker. There was a moment of pause. Many prisoners saw this and they looked up and stared at the act in shock. The man's neck was severed.

"GIVE MY REGARDS TO PROUDMOORE IN HELL, PIG!"

Then the riot broke out. When another guardsman came to strike Draknir, out of nowhere a lanky Troll leapt out of the shadows and shattered his neck. With that, a chain reaction had sparked. At least a dozen more prisoners with fires still burning in their hearts had emerged and fought back. It was going better than suspected. Inevitably, Draknir and the ones who had rebelled were hauled down stairwells and tunnels before, finally, a pit in which they were thrown into with only a single torch to illuminate the dark hole. They were left alone, or at least so it seemed. When the cultists slammed that door, there wasn't another sound that could be heard.

* * *

"I am glad to see I am not the only one who hasn't succumbed to despair." Draknir moved closer towards the group, attempting to create conversation. Some of them were unconscious, but a couple were still awake.

"I'm dyin' t' get outta dis shithole." A Troll grumbled. "I don' get how everyone be so... submissive. I mean, look around, mon. Every one o' dem could kill de guards easy and break free... but dey jus' sittin' dere!" He threw his arms up in a dramatic gesture, and his tone was a mixture of confusion and frustration.

"Indeed, Troll... you're right. Powerful individuals are here, yet they remain so docile. Something is wrong. Clearly, the Hammer Clan is affecting their minds somehow. If we want to have any chance of escaping... we must find out what." Draknir nodded at the nameless Troll, and he returned it.

A Tauren lifted up his head and turned towards the pair. It was a familiar face - the behemoth that was taken the other day. "I am with you, my friend. I will assist you in any plans." Others amongst them spoke up, mumbling their agreement.

Draknir smiled. Finally, he had found a light at the end of the tunnel. There were whole pieces amongst the broken. "Good... all of you, gather around."

The rest of the prisoners, who were already listening, shuffled closer when Draknir beckoned them to him. They kept their voices lowered and formed a circle.

"You have all gotten here very recently, yes? And this is your first time here?" They all nodded or mumbled. "Perfect... I have been informed that the ones who strike the guards a first time - us, in this instance - will be forced to work at dusk... the cultists will be groggy. Visibility will be limited. We will need to find a way to explore the place..."

The Troll rubbed his hands together, grinning widely. "I got an idea, mon... We gonna be chained together, right? We also gonna be watched by people who are close by... when we get given a break, one of us is gonna try snatch a key from de guards when we get a distraction. When we do dat, all of us need t' pin de guards down. I know pressure points - I can make 'em sleep for half an hour..."

"There is a change of the guard every hour. When the Troll puts them down, we will spread out and explore the island as best as we can. We will return, and chain ourselves up and resume work. By the time the shift changes, it will look as if the others have fallen asleep on the job."

"But won't our plan be ruined when the ones who were attacked confess?" Draknir frowned as he glanced towards the Tauren.

"Negatory, mon. De funny t'ing about dis place... is none o' de guards trust or like each ot'er. Further more, dey actually encouraged ta grass each ot'er up. Orders from de higher ups. When dem guards a' found sleepin, dey gonna be reported in a snap - all in de name of gettin' some bullshit promotion. Dey won' even t'ink 'bout de possibility it was our fault. Dey too power-hungry."

Smirks were exchanged throughout the group of 12 prisoners huddled in the pit. Draknir slowly nodded, satisfied that they had come up with a decent plan. The keen intellect of the Darkspear Trolls was something he had admired, and it was just what was going to get them out. He hoped, at least.

"Then we will rest for now, my friends... for when we step into the moonlight, we will be one step closer to freedom."

[Hawk]

Chapter 5

Broken Chains

Draknir was the only one awake. Whether or not it was because he was the most eager to escape or if everyone else was just tired was a mystery. Leaning against the rocky wall, a thought was entering his mind as he was watching everyone else sleep. The only prisoners that were in the entire facility were Orcs, Tauren, Trolls and Draenei. There were no other people, except for the guards. Was this simply because they were better workers? Or was it something else? He was wishing he knew all the answers so he could get out of there.

Then the guards came in. Their loud entry of slamming the iron door had woken the others up. They grunted their orders and threw down a rope for everyone to climb, but not before the prisoners had given each other a nod, as if to confirm they were still aware of the plan. It wasn't the best, and it was also potentially risky, because not only did they have no idea what they were looking for, but there was always the lingering chance that they would get caught. They were lead out whilst chained together, groggily marching across the fields and into the forests. Behind them, the Gar'muil prison had their bonfires lit. Guards patrolled the walls. Anyone who didn't know any better would think they were guarding a dragon.

After a while, a break was given. Now was the time. A pair of nameless Orcs managed to pull off the best distraction possible - grabbing the bowl of slop and shoving it in the guards' faces. Whilst it would've been nice to sit and laugh, they had more important things to do. Within instant, the orange-haired Troll put the guards in some strange brawling hold and they collapsed without a sound. The keys were pilfered, and the bounds were severed. They had 30 minutes. They were like rats in the darkness, scuttling around like common thieves as they managed to narrowly avoid every patrol. Draknir was heading east before he heard a loud "PSSST!" coming from another direction. Assuming it was intended for him, he went over to the noise and crouched down by an Orc and squinted his eyes at what he was witnessing.

He saw a dock, and a ship was there. Brainless muscular goons were hefting barrels, large crates and a single small box out of the cargo hold, putting them onto the shore. The procedure took 10 minutes before everything was unloaded. One guard opened up a barrel, wrinkling his nose from the smell. Draknir and the Orc had smelt it too, and grimaced. It was their latest delivery of "food" that had arrived. It smelt worst than it tasted. From a corner across the island, a large piece of machinery was being pushed along by more goons. Draknir was utterly confused on what was going on for the next couple of minutes. They were dumping all the contents into his machinery, and amidst the squelching noises, he could almost hear a blade whirring from the inside. It was at a snail's pace at first, but it was slowly accelerating in speed.

Were they really using a giant blender?

Adding more to the confusion was the sudden departure of the guards when they took the rest of the crates with them. The box was untouched. Draknir didn't waste a second. As soon as the peons were out of sight he dashed over and looked inside. What he found was just a single, small white bag. It only had one word written on it. "Additives". The Orc took the contents from Draknir and tore off the seal, hesitantly sniffing it. Prior to this, the Orc was rather... edgy. His muscles were tense, his movements were quick, and he kept glancing over his shoulder. But when he sniffed the bag, it was as if he had just deflated. A sigh escaped him, and he was about as threatening as a summer breeze.

Suddenly, it all clicked. This was what was making them so docile. A mixture of some crushed herbs, and it was about to be added to the food. It's what they were all eating for weeks now, and the effects were gradual. Draknir couldn't believe how everyone was so dumbfounded at such a simple idea. It was under their very nose. They acted on impulse and hastily tied up the bag. They went to the water and let it sink to the bottom of the ocean. The crate was resealed, and they headed back under cover of darkness. The fact it was coming by ship indicated there wasn't going to be a delivery for a while.


When they returned, the guards were still unconscious. The others had chained themselves up, but weren't working yet. Draknir joined them, and gave them a sly smirk. This wasn't the place to discuss what they did. It was only a few seconds before the guard shift changed... There was a trio this time, and when they spotted the two guards, they looked amongst themselves for a moment, puzzled at the sight.

"... Hey! What the hell are you doing sleeping on the job?!" The middle yelled.

They squinted at the new figures. "Nrh--Wha'?"

"Did the Commander not stress the importance of guarding dusk workers?! You're going to be hanged!"

"B-but I didn' fall asleep! The prisoners attacked us! I swear!"

The trio glanced towards the prisoners. They looked exhausted already, and they were sceptical. "Tell it to the Commander, worm! On your feet!"



As they were dragged off, the prisoners suppressed a laugh. They didn't know what they were going to do next. But one thing was for sure. When the next morning came, there were going to be some very, very angry prisoners, along with some completely confused and frantic guards. This was going to be a day to remember, but not in the way Draknir had thought.

* * *

It was as if hell had been unleashed that day. With the prisoners no longer under the effects of toxins, the cloud of doubt and cowardice that had been looming over them had finally lifted. Even the guards seemed to have been on edge. But when they were all rounded, the riot began. The gush of blood, the thundering roars, the splintered bones and the cries of pain had never felt so revitalizing until now. The Twilight's Hammer Clan was being demolished, and there was nothing they could do against the relentless tsunami of fury and annihilation. Even Lorkosh, the one who Draknir suspected to do the least damage, was quite possibly one of the most frightening there. He was seeing him fight enemies as though he were possessed.

Draknir had vowed the stone halls would be stained crimson, and they were more than just stained. Like a swarm of locusts, the prisoners rushed forth out of the gates and seized another dock on the other side of the island. It was a pity none of them had anything to destroy the island with, but they could leave with the fact that they had killed many today, and that they had earned their freedom. The ships had navigation charts and compasses strewn about across the captain's quarters, so getting home wasn't an issue.

They had eventually arrived in Ratchet, and many of them had parted ways. Lorkosh and Draknir however, were heading to Orgrimmar. They were plodding across the shoreline of the river leading out of Ratchet before the grizzled Orc stopped in his tracks.

"...Blackeye."

"Yes?" Draknir turned around. Lorkosh didn't usually call him by his last name.

"There is something I must tell you, and it is because you are trusted to keep it secret... and that you will receive an offer when I'm finished." Lorkosh didn't let him reply. "I'm sure you remember the interrogation. The questions you were asked. I'm going to answer them. The Stonewall is a haven for pupils to ascend to something much more powerful than they are now. It is a mountain stronghold, hidden in Nagrand. The Chieftain of this mountain is known as Groxinar, and he is the most powerful of them."

"Them?"

"The Elemental Transcendent. You may be wondering how I know this information." He paused for a moment. "This is because I am one of them too. I was one of the people The Clan was hunting. I managed to survive the torture and not tell them anything. The reason I left The Stonewall is because I was searching for a pupil to train. One who is worthy and strong enough of succeeding. I believe I've found them."

Draknir felt a firm hand being placed onto his shoulder. He wasn't sure what to be thinking at the moment. Lorkosh and his kind were the reason he was captured to begin with, because he was suspected of being affiliated with them. But on the other hand... Lorkosh was noble and honourable warrior, who was not only incredibly dangerous but was willing to pass down his wisdom. This could very well have been his one chance to prove himself as a war hero to The Horde. He could be the answer to what he needed.

Lorkosh kept the hand still. "Draknir Blackeye... do you wish to become an Elemental Transcendent under my tutelage? To master the power of all four elements, and to take something that will only come to you once?"

"... ... Without a doubt in mind, my friend." Draknir grinned as he gripped onto Lorkosh's shoulder as well.

"Good, good... I will return to you in a few months time. Tie off your loose ends. You're going to be gone for a long time..."

[Hawk]

Long post is long.

Chapter 6

Divided Heart

Six days ago...


The infinite wisdom that many of The Horde was gifted with was something that Draknir had envied. One of those people was Farseer Mochla Stormcaller. They were cousins, related by blood. She resided in the Azshara Crater, and it was also where Draknir was headed to next. He wanted to at least catch a glimpse of what would lie ahead of him. Not so much the training... but him personally. Was he going to be captured again? Was his son going to be taken? Would Lorkosh perish? He didn't want to remain in the shadows anymore, and it was going to be a while until his new master came back.

When he entered the crater, he went to the first place that Mochla normally took to - the ruins of water. With the fact he was going to be training under an Elemental Transcendent, he began to view the place in a different light. He appreciated it more. He nodded to the water elementals as he went down the stairs, but they didn't return the gesture. He kept walking anyway.

What were you expecting? A hello? You're still a stranger to them.


His first guess had proven to be correct, and as he peered over he saw Mochla sitting in the middle of the pure water below. The snow-white wolf mask on her face made it difficult to tell if she was meditating or watching him. When he made it to the bottom, he leant against one of the pillars and folded his arms across his chest. His plate armour causing a ruckus didn't exactly give the word subtlety any justice, so he was sure Mochla knew someone had arrived.

"I had a feeling you would be here."

She seemed quite content with remaining in her seat for now. "The place is soothing for when one is troubled. Water is the essence of what cleanses our spirit."

"Shall I swim to you, cousin?" A smirk spread across his face. He was hoping her answer wasn't yes.

Mochla shook her head with a soft chuckle before she stood, lightly striding over the surface of the water to Draknir. "No. I will not make you do such a thing in your armour."

He steps were slow and graceful. When she approached him, Draknir smiled at her and took a step forward to give her an embrace. "It has been too long."

Mochla returned the gesture, wrapping her arms across him and lingering in the hug for a bit longer than was her typical nature. Draknir didn't want to spoil the moment, for he was thinking that something was wrong, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't mind it, either, and he had returned the similar affection easily. "It has. I've missed you." She replied.

"And I have missed you. I have come for your wisdom, cousin. But before we get into all of that... let's have a drink and talk."



Unfortunately, their stay in the tavern wasn't very long at all. Mochla, for all her wisdom, was sadly also the bearer of bad news for she had seen it before anyone else. It was the price to pay. They left tavern as quickly as they entered and they stood over the edge of the ruins once more. Draknir had stared ahead.



"I have startled you, haven't I?"

Draknir almost got the impression she was feeling guilt. He'd have none of it. It's wasn't exactly her fault. "Mochla... the news you brings me fills me with sorrow. There is no way to avoid this from happening?"

She shook her head. It was a no. Mochla too was looking ahead before she felt a strong arm being wrapped around her shoulders. Her pauldrons had spikes on them, but Draknir hadn't seemed to care. He got the feeling she needed it. "I promise I will come to you nearer the time."

"Thank you, Draknir. You are dear to me. If your son ever needs a home, you know he is welcome here with me and mine."

"I am sure he would greatly enjoy it here. I would have brought him here today, but... well, this would lead to why I originally came." He decided it was time to tell his story.

Mochla nodded. "Ahh, yes, you did say you came seeking wisdom."

Suddenly, a voice was heard behind them. "Throm'ka, Blackeye, Farseer Stormcaller." The voice came from none other than Duron Bloodaxe, an old friend. He had looked the same as before. Broad shouldered, muscular, with a beard growing on his jaw and the famous black and white Warsong tabard covering his torso.

"Throm'ka, Duron."
"Duron? I had not expected to see you here."

The Spirit Champion had bowed. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

The presence of Duron had seemed to lighten the mood considerably. It was revealed that his mate, Lirshar, had given birth recently. Draknir didn't even know she was pregnant. Shows how much he kept in contact. He made a mental note to visit people more often. Lirshar was on his list. They had idle chatter, mostly talking about their children, but Draknir knew that he couldn't linger. Lorkosh could be returning any moment and waiting for him, and he didn't want to keep his master waiting.

He told them his story, and that he would be following in Lorkosh's footsteps.

"This will put you in danger." Mochla finally said.

"Indeed... it shall. But the end will worth it. Though, I do not know what will happen along the way... Mochla, I ask you to reveal my future to me. I need to know if I will perish, or if I will lose what I hold close and the sacrifice be for naught."

Mochla smirked and leaned back against the stone pillar as she folded her arms over her chest. "If you are to make a decision, Draknir, you must accept all the consequences as they are. If I tell you the way will be easy and safe, will it still be worth it to you?"

"I do this whether it is easy or difficult. I do this whether it is safe or dangerous. I want to know if anything will happen so that I can prepare for it... or prevent it."

"You are afraid for your son."

She seemed to have read his mind. Draknir nodded. Throughout this, Duron had been nearby but remained silent as he listened to the conversation.

"I must know if he will still be there when I reach the end."

Mochla paused for a few moments, thinking something over in her head and pulled a pipe from her pouch. She placed the wood between her teeth. "Spirits of Air and Storm, grant me your eyes so that I might see for the sake of another." She held her hand up to the end of the pipe after softly chanting, lighting it and sending the sweet sent of the herb throughout the base of the ruins. Her eyes retained a faraway look, as though she were staring at things happening just behind Draknir's shoulder and past the wall he sat against.


For the following minutes, she didn't seem to be his cousin anymore. She was more of a doomsayer and the spirits had used her as a physical host for it. "Draknir Blackeye, proud Warrior of the Horde. You bring danger not just to yourself with this path you walk. I see you travelling, your body split in two as you force yourself to make decisions and be in many places at once. Your heart is exposed to the swords of your enemies."

Draknir blinked as he took in the message, his features expressing confusion mixed with dread. One thing he had forgotten was how the spirits never told you anything directly. They were cryptic and forced you to figure it out by yourself. Sometimes you weren't even any better off... but the information had helped. He got the haunting feeling something was going to be taken from him. But he was determined to prevent disaster.

"Tread your path with caution and wisdom."


Caution....

And Wisdom...

It was these words that Draknir had echoed in his mind as he made the journey back to Orgrimmar. The rest of the meeting had consisted of more words of wisdom, an offer of protection on Mochla's part, and a vow to bring honour to their family.



The Present Day...



Draknir and Mogdrog, his son, had been standing side by side outside of their home. They had a long talk about being cautious, but it wasn't easily accomplished when even Draknir wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen. He had to put his faith and trust in not only the spirits, but himself as well. Then, a few meters ahead, he spotted a familiar figure. Lorkosh had returned, in a much more energetic state of mind and with protective leather that had only covered his legs and hands. He was shirtless, and a long blade was tied to him. Furthermore, almost his entire body was adorned in countless black, tiny runes that had looked like scripture, but Draknir was unsure what language it was in. If it even was one.

Lorkosh smiled as he approached. "I see you're eager to go." His gaze rested on Mogdrog. "And who's this youngling?"

"My son. His name is Mogdrog. I wanted to bring him with me. Is that alright?"

The elder nodded. "Of course, of course. I hope you are prepared. It is a long trip to Nagrand, and I don't trust the Mages and their magic."

That made three of them. The time had come to tread into the unknown and emerge in a different form. What he would be renewed as, however, Draknir did not know.

[Hawk]

Chapter 7

The Earth Province

"Beautiful..." Lorkosh look in a breath of the fresh air and smiled as he looked upon the rolling plains.

Truly, Nagrand was the most beautiful place on Draenor. Practically untouched when the planet was torn apart, it thrived with wildlife. Majestic beasts roamed here and there, living in harmony with the spirit of Earth. The grass, a vibrant emerald colour, stretched on for miles as far as the eye could see. There was no other place like it. Draknir too had been admiring the view, standing atop a hill with his mentor at his side and Mogdrog at the other. This wasn't the first time the boy had seen Nagrand, but when you live in Durotar and see nothing but a dry wasteland, Nagrand seemed like a dream.

They had taken rest in Garadar, the Mag'har Orc's familiarity with Draknir had granted them a warm welcome. Mogdrog was left to play with the orphans whilst Lorkosh and Draknir headed far away from the village and sat down next to a tree.

"Draknir, it is tradition for all mentors to see if their pupils are strong enough to go through training before anything. I've seen what you can do, but there is more." A small, glass vial was presented. "Whilst they are unconscious and beaten, they are given this concoction and... well, this is where they have to figure it out for themselves."

"And without this, that potion in your hand won't work?"

Lorkosh shook his head. "No. The imbiber has to be severely weakened and unconscious. You will be subject to the power of the elements. You cannot dodge, block, or otherwise prevent the pain.""

The younger Orc let out a deep sigh and began dismantling his armour. "So be it..." He muttered.

Torture at Gar'muil was bad enough, now he had to suffer it at the hand of his mentor. Still, he could not contest the Transcendent's traditions, and if he were to be broken once more then he would do it whilst remembering it was but another step to take. Earth was first. Draknir had not yet seen their abilities, and now he was about to get a front row seat.

Mighty boulders had crashed into him, bruising his limbs and fracturing his bones. Some parts of his body were struck repeatedly, and blood and began oozing out and the bruises themselves were almost turning black. Draknir was fighting against every instinct to dodge out of the way or to shield himself, but he knew it would only prolong it. Water followed. At first, he thought he was being given a break, for the blasts of water and ice had began to numb his limbs, but the frigid spells had began to seep into his wounds and his bones, which proved he was sorely mistaken. Fire was the worst of them all. His skin and muscles had already been chilled to the bone, and the waves of flames had given this a different name. Crucify was a more suitable word. The rapid change in temperature made it worse, and he was finally plunged into the realm of darkness when the wind came. Powerful gusts of wind and the bursts of lightning thrown at him had eventually knocked him out. It was short, and he was at least thankful for that.

Whilst he was lying still against the ground, the potion was forced down his throat. As his wounds were being mended, he strayed into dream.

* * *

The sky was the first thing Draknir saw when he awoke from his slumber, but his vision was so blurry that the wandering clouds looming over him made it look as if it was just blue and white parchment. He groaned as he got onto his feet, recovering himself as he lost balance for a moment. After his vision cleared up, he called out. No one answered. When he observed his surroundings, however, he wasn't in Nagrand anymore. Or at least, it didn't look like it. The grass had a much darker hue to it, and everywhere there was dozens of mountains so tall they had disappeared amongst clouds. There were great canyons and cliffs, caves and pillars of rock throughout the misty region. Something else that puzzled him was the complete lack of agony screaming in his limbs. He had no new scars or anything. He appeared no different. But then it hit him.

He wasn't awake at all. He was in a dream, and his purpose for being there was something he was about to discover for himself. In one direction, there was nothingness ahead of him. On the other, a large stone wall with an entrance. Seeing more promise of escape, he followed the passage of earth. As he began walking... he suddenly felt slower. Heavier. Like he was burdened by some great, invisible weight and it was pulling him back. What would take less than a minute to get there took about three. As soon as he took a step outside the wall, the ground began to shake violently, and not expecting it Draknir had fallen over. It stopped. He blinked and got up, but the moment he was on his two feet, more tremors came. He was beginning to lose his temper and tried getting up quicker, but this made it worse. This repeated quite a few times before Draknir just laid there, surrendering.


What is going on here...?

He was motionless for a few minutes, waiting to see if there would be another tremor. Silence. Deciding it was time for a different approach he began to slowly get up, and once getting onto his two feet, braced himself. Like clockwork it came again, this time however he used his own weight to his advantage and the Orc barely moved. Grinning triumphantly, he basked in victory and began walking forward again. Only to encounter his next problem. He didn't fall over, but when the ground vibrated, massive stone walls began to erect themselves from the ground. A labyrinth had been formed before his very eyes in a matter of seconds. Under normal conditions he'd be impressed, but instead he cursed under his breath and began to trek through.

It was only until he reached the middle that he realised how enormous this was. The middle was just a square clearing with towering stone doors, with 3 stone slabs that were perfectly smooth. He peered closer and stood on it. Nothing happened. He spotted an outline, and considering the object made to fit into it wasn't in the vicinity, he made a safe guess he had to work his way through the maze and locate them.

Throughout the task, he kept reminding himself of patience. After what must have been two hours of aimless wandering, he had located the first object. To his surprise, it was a statue of himself. It was wielding a large blade with a single hand, his head raised to the sky and letting out a warcry. His beard was no longer braided, but it was broad and flowing down to his abdomen. This might have been him in his older years. Draknir recognised the outline at the base and went to pick it up, only to stare in confusion as it began to glow as bright as the sun and become engulfed in white. He shielded his eyes as it began to intensify. When his arm was lowered, it had changed. It was the same person; however he was sitting in meditation with his eyes closed atop a cliff. Instead of being ready for battle, it was seemingly being patient. Waiting for the opportune moment.

A grunt escaped him as he hefted it, still unsure of what had exactly happened. Though, he was in a dream. Anything could happen. He was even slower now, and his memory was struggling to recall the pattern of the intricate walls and paths. Fortunately, he had felt no urge to drink or eat. This place seemed to eliminate hunger and thirst. He advanced through the middle after a couple of hours and put the statue in it's correct place. The terrain shuddered as the statue was sinking into the depths of the earth. One down, two to go.

Nightfall was nonexistent here. The maze was constantly veiled by mist, and the sky couldn't be seen. Time had dragged on, and the second statue was found. It wasn't one of himself this time. There was one Orc and one Human attached to the base, and were both faceless. The Orc was slumped over the Human's sword and his axe had fallen onto the floor. The blinding light came once again as he touched it, and in it's place, stood the Orc holding his ground and parrying the Human's blade with apparent ease. The faceless Orc was a towering force, looking as if he was about to destroy him in one blow. He was strong and overwhelming like an earthquake.


Draknir was exhausted when he put the third statue in it's place. He had nothing to mark his progress, for the floor itself was made of rock. The final one, before the transformation, was a Tauren slumped next to a boulder in fatigue. After changing, it was the warrior holding the boulder over his head with colossal strength. The third square had disappeared into the earth, and the great doors had opened. The weary Orc stared ahead of him to see a great earth elemental approach him. It was easily three times his height, and it's movements were slow and left prints in the stone. It spoke first.


"Greetings, young Blackeye..." It's voice was deep, and it echoed the noise of mountains moving. It was as if he were speaking to a gentle Titan.

"Spirit of earth..." He responded with breathless lungs. "You set these tasks before me?"

It nodded. "I did. You are to be an Elemental Transcendent, and you must understand us if you wish to be with us." It stepped closer. "The slowness of earth is viewed as a flaw... and this is wrong. Earth is patient and endures against even the greatest of threats. Earth does not charge with reckless abandon... it is through being slow and steady that Earth has survived."

Draknir remained silent as he took in the information. The spirit was still speaking, and he would not be so disrespectful as to contest against their wisdom or interrupt them.

"You too, young Draknir, must hold these traits with you. Be slow. Listen and be patient, do not be rash. When acting, endure whatever comes for you and exercise great strength." It was impossible to tell, but it almost seemed as if the elemental was smiling from the tone in it's next words. "I forsee you becoming a great friend of earth."

"Thank you, spirit." Draknir bowed his head. "How do I leave?"

Earth was surprised. "Leave? Oh no, warrior. Fire, Wind and Water await you. These are not just dreams. We are communing with you, and giving you wisdom. You must pass our tests to hear it, however. When you finish with water... you will wake."

A hand was raised towards the opened doors. Nothing could be seen except the white glow. "Go now. We will see you soon."

[Hawk]

Spoiler:

NONE OF THIS HAS HAPPENED. NOTHING. I'm just writing for my own entertainment (and hopefully for others) and no longer wishing to see this storyline unfinished.

Chapter 8

The Fire Realm

Draknir peered up at the great stone doors as they opened for him, revealing nothing but a blinding white light. He turned around for a brief moment to nod towards the earth elemental before pressing in, covering his eyes with his arm and blindly walking.

Eventually the light had faded, and in its place was a forest. Only, it had been devastated by fire beyond restoration. The trees that were stretching as far as the eyes could see were dead, black as night and left as mere blocks of charcoal. Some of the branches overhead were still aflame, burning eternally and refusing to relinquish their hold. Draknir looked back in the direction he came in to find the wall he came through was replaced by... nothingness. He was on the edge of a cliff. There was no going back. This didn't panic him, however. He had no intention of leaving just yet.

His only path was through the scorched forest. Each step he took was cushioned underneath a bed of soot and ash which clung to the soles of his feet, the intense heat starting to make him sweat within a few minutes. There was nothing around him save for the sound of crackling flames and collapsing trees in the distance. It was unsettling walking in the presence of fire, but also strangely comforting. Tranquil, even. He felt as if he was connected with the element before he even spoke with it, like a flame was burning inside him that gave willpower and strength. With his invisible force urging him to go on, he followed his instincts and continued along the path.

To his surprise, he found out he wasn't truly as alone as he thought. He saw footprints within the ashes that were not his own. They were smaller, and there was more of than of them. But buried in the dust, he narrowed his eyes as he saw an object that had been untouched by fire. When he pulled it out, his eyes widened and his heart began to pace. It was his son's tomahawk. Without a moment of hesitation he stormed through the forest, leaving a trail of dust clouds as he went in pursuit of his lost child that was somehow in this place. The path was finished at the end of the forest, and on the other side there what used to be a village. Barely any of it remained standing. He stomped through, looking for any signs.

It came to him when he reached a clearing.

Mogdrog was chained to a totem pole. His head was hung over in fatigue, making it difficult to tell if he was alive or not. He was bloodied and beaten to the point where he was barely recognisable. Stopping Draknir from reaching him were two men from the Twilight's Hammer Clan. He had been subject to torture by one of them, who he had called "Black Lashes". The other was shrouded in robes, making it impossible to identify him.

"Found ourselves a runaway." The stranger smirked, tapping the child on the head with a single finger.

"Let him go! Now!" Draknir bellowed as he drew his sword, advancing towards them.

The cultists spoke, but... he didn't hear them. Their voices were muffled and distorted. But he heard another, inside his head. This voice was intimidating, deep, but quiet. The whispers in his ears were accompanied by the sound of dancing flames.

"What are you waiting for? They have almost killed your only son... destroy them!"

Draknir turned about, attempting to find the source of the mysterious entity.

"I'm speaking to you, Orc! Maybe you want your son to die now, hm?"

"You let this insolent mongrel speak to you in such ways? Show him your might!" The voice became more demanding. The peaceful flame he felt flickering inside him was beginning to feel like a volcano about to erupt.

"Silence!" Draknir roared, attempting to gain control of his own thoughts.

"Sear their flesh! Do not restrain yourself!"

It felt as if lava was flowing through his veins, but he felt... empowered. Whilst his mind was wrestling for self control, one of the cultist placed a rotting hand onto Mogdrog's skull. It felt as if timed had slowed down. The child reacted to the touch and looked up, sparing one last gaze towards his father. Suddenly, he fell apart. His flesh began to dissolve before eventually he was nothing more than a pile of sand.

Draknir stared, wide eyed at the sight. He was frozen. The cultists began to laugh at the suffering they inflicted, but Draknir was in a world of his own.

"Because you hesitated... you brought this on yourself. Do not let them do this again. Make them squeal! Annihilate them!"

His fists began to clench, his gaze lifted towards the cultist. His eyes began to turn a deep crimson, full of hate and rage.

"LET THEM BURN IN THE WAKE OF YOUR FURY!"


The words of the entity's voice were loud, booming, and relentless. Draknir could no longer contain his rage. He let out an ear splitting bellow, and as he did, his hands and feet were set ablaze. The eyes that were crimson from bloodlust were now two orbs of flames in his sockets, their smouldering gaze set dead ahead of him. Draknir was sent into an infernal rampage, breaking into a charge. As he began to close in the gap, suddenly more cultists began to appear. But he refused to halt. In fact, the more there was to slaughter, the better.

"Fire is generous to those who embrace it..."

Now beside Draknir were reinforcements of his own. They were fire elementals but their form was those of Orcs who charged alongside him. But Draknir didn't care for allies. He cared not for remorse or restraint. When he dealt the first blow, his sword turned a cultist to dust. Fire rained down upon the clan. They screamed in agony as the flesh was seared from their bones, which only served to fuel Draknir's rage. He was consumed by anger. He longer felt as if he was in possession of his own actions. It was like he was watching himself obliterate anything that came in front of him.

But the feeling was like no other. He had never felt so powerful.

When he reached the thick of the fray, he met eye to eye to with the killer of his child. The cultist weakly attempting to swing his staff at the enraged Orc to thwart him back, but it was grabbed and broken into two. A fiery hand grabbed the man's skull and brought him to his knees. He yelled in pain as it made contact, a hissing noise following. Draknir stared into him, breathing hard. Though it wasn't air that was escaping his lungs. As he roared, a torrent of flame spewed from his maw and ate away at the man's head, leaving only a stump that was emitting wisps of smoke. The body was left to drop onto the floor. Even when he took the man's life, he needed something else to slay. Anything.

He even turned towards his own fire elementals, but before he could strike, they lost their shapes and became a swirling pool of flames. A colossal fire elemental emerged that looked down upon Draknir. Its expression was emotionless, but he could tell it was pleased.


"Well done, apprentice. I was beginning to fear you did not have the capacity to merge with fire, but I was clearly mistaken." It laughed. "But you must obtain the will to be in control of your own actions. Channel your rage. This you will learn... in time."

Draknir was breathless from the experience, but bowed his head. "Thank you, spirit of fire... but where is my son?"

"He's safe. It was only a vision." It retorted in an uncaring tone. "Fire can be misjudged. It's destructive power is justly feared, and it is truly dangerous... but it is just a part of nature like any other of my brother and sisters. I remind them of this frequently."

"This is my wisdom for you, apprentice. Let the rage and hate of your enemies be your fuel, but let the force of your will be your guide. Show no reluctance to using fire. Embrace it, and the rewards will be great. But you have much potential..."The elemental tapped at Draknir's heart with a molten claw.

"I will heed your words, spirit. I will not allow myself to be consumed."

"Good. Now begone. Brother Wind awaits you." With a flick of the elemental's wrist, a door of flames was erected and opened before him.

Draknir eagerly stepped through, taking the lesson of fire to heart.