Storytime with Asgrend

[Alpharius]

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…?”

[Alpharius]

I gotta say, I'm really proud of how this turned out. My best work yet if you ask me.

Please keep in mind this story is fiction. He eventually says so, but I just want this out there so no one freaks out half way.


The stranger threw another log onto the fire. You still hear the wolves, but at least they are not around the camp anymore, just at the distance.

"Not tired? Afraid of the wolves..." His glowing eyes turned on you. "Or me?" He chuckled his dark, echoing laugh. "Don't worry, my days of senseless violence are long over. They're still random, but I do not just attack people at will. Only beasts and animals."

He leaned back on his seat, taking a drag from his pipe.

"And demons."

The word sent a chill down your spine. Demons, ever since the third war, you knew they were true. They were just stories in the second war: Flying red beasts with flaming swords. Just stories they said...

"Did you ever hear about how demons attacked Silvermoon? No? Well, it's just a story... why don't you get comfortable and I'll tell you?

"Well, the story goes that there was a gentleman who was messing around with dark magic, long before warlocks had come to Azeroth. No, not shadow magic... just dark magic. Wrong magic. He sort of discovered it while playing around with rocks he found in... well... that's the thing. No one really knows where he found them. They say they came from space, and he found them in what was once the black morass, now the swamp of sorrows, and others say he found them when some horrible monster coughed them up on his porch. Either way, he found them. "

He took another drag from his pipe, and blew out the image of a skull with horns on it.

"The story goes, is that he channeled his arcane magic through it, and the stones warped the magic to the polar opposite. Not fel magic, just opposite magic. Most likely the same magic that drove Kael'Thas mad. As he experimented with it more and more, it began to do things to him. At first, it was just images in his laboratory. Dark shadows, shapes, symbols.... Then the images began to follow him outside of his work. He heard voices, whispers. At first the words were random, the whispers nonsense, but as time went by, they became understandable. They told him things, secrets no elf was meant to know.

"They told him of a realm beyond Azeroth, even beyond Outlands, and the realm that the Burning Legion came from. It's a realm of pure madness and insanity, where emotions mesh into unthinkable madness, shapes form that should not form, and colors that no being on Azeroth could have ever created. It was a maw of pure madness, and this... thing... was giving him the road map."

The stranger sat forward. There were his eyes... that haunting glow. It pierces right through you. He held the pipe up to his mouth, and the contents inside glowed red as he inhaled the smoke it produced, and puffed it out his nose. Images of a dragon examining its prey come to your mind.

"So the elf began to experiment even more. He listened to the voice, and the voice implored him to press on with his insane work. At first, it was just animals, and then it became other elves. He kidnapped the elves and performed horrible things on them, things I dare not even repeat. One thing I can say is he was always carving symbols into the animals or elves, strange and unknown symbols not from Azeroth.

"As time passed, he found he was not alone. Strangely, other elves were drawn to him and his work, drawn by some mysterious force, perhaps the same force that spoke to our elf. We'll call him Hector. Poor Hector. Mad Hector. Hector is a good name don't you think?

"It seems our elf Hector began to draw in a cult. They worshiped him and his work. They aided him in kidnapping and capturing of elves and animals. They volunteered themselves for carving of the strange symbols into them. The difference between the work Hector did on his kidnapped and captured animals, and the ones who willingly gave themselves to Hector, was Hector's cult lived after being carved up. It was odd, but those carved with the symbols he kidnapped did not live afterwards. Very strange that.

"So you're wondering why that is? Well, you see, the thing that infected Hector also infected his cult. It had not infected those he captured. It was sort of a magic that picked and chose its victims. You could say the magic had a will of its own."

The stranger shrugged, his armor rattling like chains.

"More time passed, and his cult grew, but always they were secret. The kidnappings had finally drawn the attention of the guards and even so far as the Farstrider army. They were always alert for anyone suspicious. They did not seem to know of the cult of Hector. Unfortunately the cult Hector had to work harder to remain undetected, as their work was far too important to let some meddling guards and Farstriders interrupt. They had to finish, they had to work, they had to complete it, before it was too late, before time was up. It seems the cult Hector was on a strict time table.

"Soon the cult grew far too large, and they had to move their operations to the sewers. There they lived among the rats, and continued to practice their dark magic. Anyone who dared to venture into the sewers was taken as a sacrifice, be he worker, soldier, or... well... let's not dwell on such things, yes?

“The followers of cult Hector began tainting themselves, allowing themselves to become further corrupted. They began changing, morphing into something else. Limbs grew where they shouldn’t, an eye appeared on their forehead, their skin got hard and chitinous, or they began to grow feathers. Some even began to communicate telepathically, while others devolved to grunting. The changes were more extreme on some, and hardly noticeable on others. Those with extreme mutations had to be hidden away in Hectors laboratory where he first began his twisted experiments.

“The Cult of Hector became bolder, and began parading around the streets. They made banners, held demonstrations, gave sermons, proclaiming Hector as some sort of messiah, when he was in fact a pariah. Hector himself began to mutate as well, developing lizard like skin, with a long, diseased tongue, boils on his long ears, his hair had turned hard like straw, and he had grown too many limbs at the elbow. His back was covered with feathers, he had an extra set of eyes on his forehead, and one foot was that of a chicken, and the other much like that of a basilisk. His work had taken over his mind: nothing of what Hector used to be was left, and instead there was only Hidetrax, the horrible name he, or should I say it, had given itself.

The stranger leaned back into his chair. All that you could see was his glowing eyes and his blazing pipe when he smoked. The air around you grew chill, even though the fire was right there.

“It seems this tale always brings in the cold wind.” He grinned. “Now… where was I… Ah yes! So; as time went on, cult Hector began to draw the attention of the Silvermoon hierarchy. They put out creeds and wanted posters, demanding the heads of anyone who was a member of Cult Hector. The guards were ordered to scour the city for their leader, and the farstriders were ordered to scour all of Quel’Thalas for any sign of these cultists. Cult Hector’s days were numbered.

“But that was no problem for the Cult of Hector. Hidetrax’s plan was almost complete. All they needed to do was to open a portal for their new masters and unleash them into the world. He only needed a few more sacrifices and experiments, but there was a problem. Kidnapping was getting harder and harder to do, and he could not sacrifice his cursed members; his sacrifices had to be pure blooded, free of taint. Just a few more deaths…! He told himself. That’s all I need!

“He would have to go out into the streets and do it himself. He began to arm his silent cult with weapons that he had made out of bones and flesh. Some of his members did not need weapons, for their limbs had grown into hideous claws, talons, and whip like appendages with barbs of bone. He told them to go out into the streets and paint the streets and forests of Silvermoon red.

“It was like a great wave! They came from everywhere, out of every corner, window, and door. They killed without remorse or prejudice. They grabbed the wounded and dragged them into the dark, where the eyes could not follow. I dare not describe the horrors that happened after their capture, but soon after their lightning-quick strike, the sky above Quel’Thelas turned crimson, and the sun vanished, leaving an eerily red glow illuminated across the surface of the city and forest.

“Meanwhile, our cursed Hector-Hidetrax was busy with his portal for his masters underneath the city, in the sewers their great cult had claimed for themselves. He and a few loyal followers were alone in front of a swirling mass of color and chaos that was deemed a portal. Not even the rats were present for this, what Hidetrax called, momentous occasion, for their masters were to come!



“Strange tentacles, claws much like crustaceans and scorpions, talons and limbs began to slowly emerge from the portal. The ritual was complete! Demons and beasts no man or elf had ever seen before were emerging, lining up, waiting for orders. Hidetrax immediately assumed command, and a pact was made with his new masters.

“Now, you are asking yourself, when do the heroes emerge? Do they storm through the front gates and save the day? Do they pour out of the forests and free the city from this curse? Normally, yes, you would be right. But this, this is a Draconis legend! This is told to our warrior youth to inspire them! Draconis men do not simply walk into a battle, or save the day at the last moment! We have better ways of dealing with battles…”



The stranger drew in smoke, and puffed out a smoke cloud, which eerily looked like a battlefield of men fighting other men.



“We came from the sky.” He pointed upwards, which drew you to look up at the stars. “We came, riding in flaming chariots, pulled by mighty war beasts of legends past, and dropped into the city, riding on fire as we came to the cities aide. We crashed down into the city much like how the infernals crashed into Azeroth. There were only ten of us, as that was all that was needed. We wore armor forged from pure courage, and armed with the finest blades and axes made of pure hate. We glowed from the heat we had produced from our arrival, eyes blazing; and then we made our war.

“The first to attack were tainted cultists, covered in many limbs, strange tentacles, and feathers of many colors. They were easily cut down with our fury for those who would dare rob us of our world. We killed without remorse and struck with extreme prejudice. Then the beasts came. At first they were just more cultists, but their bodies erupted in a mass of chaos and convulsions, forming new bodies: Some were insect-like, with armor hides of chitin like steel, and horns and spikes to match. Some were snake like, with many arms, wielding many strange weapons. Others were more like saytrs, bulging with muscle and hate. But the fact of the matter was, they were an enemy, and enemies needed to be killed.

“The Draconis sky warriors charged in, blades severing heads and cleaving bodies! Their weapons were white hot, cutting through any armor like it was paper, and their armor felled any weapon that dared to touch their magnificent form. They would not be slain so easily by mere beasts. However, as the enemies became more grotesque, the challenge became much harder.

"These monsters seemed to pour out of everywhere, but the Draconis sky warriors took them off without trial. But even Draconis warriors are not immortal, and had to advance straight to the source: They had to go underground and face Hidetrax. They carved their way through snakes, birds, lizards and satyrs, to get to their ultimate goal. It would be through a path of death that they would go to the sewers. As they trekked through the sewer, a sudden stillness came about the place. There were no cultists, no demons, no bug monsters... nothing, not even rats.

"Strange as it was, they kept focus on their main prey. They navigated through the dark easily, for they did not need torches; their bodies still glowing hot from their original descent. They did not need to hide, either, for they had no fear of whatever came around the corners they passed, be that man or monster. Draconis warriors are told that they should not have such a petty emotion like fear, but that is a lie: We just hide it very well, you see. My brother, he's afraid of spiders. Me?" He takes a deep breath, his face illuminated from his pipe. His eyes are closed in thought. "Probably commitment."

The stranger shrugged, his armor clacking and clattering. His arms suddenly flew out.

"There he was! Hidetrax! In all his horrible glory. No longer was he the elf that simply tinkered around with magical rocks, no! This was a horrible thing! He had a back of colorful feathery wings, a tongue that spat disease and decay with every flick of saliva, skin as hard as rock, claws like swords, and feet just as horrible as the rest of him. He shouted 'Fools! You are too late! I have already opened the gateway to the other side! This world will be ours!' The head Draconis warrior pointed his sword at him and spoke with the same power that he glowed with. 'You lost the fight before you ever began it.'

"This angered Hidetrax, for you see, his ego was just as big as his new stature was becoming. Hidetrax roared, and he merged himself with the seething darkness that he had tinkered with! He grew larger, his wings a thousand in number, with colors no one had ever seen before, and new ones forming by the second! He suddenly grew a strange and long tail that ended in a spiked, bony ball. His fingers melted together to form a Sickle, and his many limbed arms formed a great sword, a whip, and a chain. His tongue drooped out, spilling acid and foul waste, his face grew out like a hammer, and he hunched over in a horrible form. It seemed that this was both Hector and whatever was calling itself Hidetrax, a binding of the souls into a horrible contract.

"Hidetrax flapped his many wings, making a horrible snap and cracking noise, and threw himself at the nearest warrior. Hidetrax felled him, showing the sky warriors that even they were not immortal, and that the utmost attention must be paid, or you will pay the ultimate price. The warriors immediately converged on him, throwing great spears of hate and fury, slicing at him with swords of courage and might, and cleaving his body with axes of duty and honor! The beast fought them all off as best he could, but he was pushed back, inch by inch, swatting away Draconis sky warriors, but they only came back to fight him. Hidetrax flicked his mighty tail at the warriors, but he only managed to chip away at the stone floor, missing the warriors by miles! The sky warrior leader challenged Hidetrax, and they did battle. Their leader was armed with a greatsword, and he parried and blocked any attack that Hidetrax sent his way. The foul beast-demon grew weary of this engagement, and shot himself into the air, landing behind the group.

"Hidetrax impaled a sky warrior with his sword arm, and he fell. The leader shouted orders, and his battle brother charged in, slicing off his sword arm, leaving the beast with his many jointed limbs, his horrible tongue, and his death tail. It lashed out with his whip and chains at the warrior who dared to attack him, and strung him up on the wall like a decorative piece.

"It flicked its tongue this way and that, flecks of plague and waste going everywhere, splashing onto a sky warrior. The warrior writhed and wriggled, as his mighty glow was replaced by a horrible curse. Flies began pouring out of his mouth and eyes, trying to attack the group of Draconis clanners. The warrior armed with spears had no choice but to fell his battle brother! He would not die in vain, and would be honored in the halls of glory, for no Draconis death is ever in vain.

"He once again used his mighty tail, and swept a warrior off his feet. He stomped over to him quickly, but the warrior was ready and held out a mighty sword spear, ready to meet any advance! It was futile, but not useless, as the warrior was crushed, but Hidetrax was now off balance, roaring in agony. Another sky warrior, enraged by his battle brothers death, charged in headlong, and threw himself head first into the belly of the beast, throwing Hidetrax backwards and onto his back! The sky warrior pulled out the spear in his foot, and made a prayer to the gods of war. He climbed Hidetrax's hideous body, crushing forward, and thrust the sword spear right into one of his eyes. All Hidetrax could do was smack the warrior away and scream.

"He regained his footing after his horrible scream. One warrior bravely charged into the fray! The great demon-beast flicked his tongue around, hoping to plague this brave champion, lashing out once again with his whips and chains, but the clanner had learned from his brothers previous mistake, and dodged the attacks. He sacrificed his weapon and threw it at it's tongue. It was cut off, but the blade began to dissolve into a heap of metal. All Hidetrax had left was his mighty wings and his collection of arms. Hidetrax began to retreat into the sky, but the sky warriors would have none of this! The clanner with the spears began to throw spear after spear, impaling many of its great wings until they were useless in the aid of flight. Hidetrax fell and fell, until he crashed onto the stony floor of the sewer with a mighty crash! A nearby warrior charged in and severed his many arms from his body, leaving him defenseless.

"He was now crippled. He could not fight back. The sky warriors surrounded him. Their leader spoke, 'Great beast, you have plagued our lands and our city, but no more! Now greet your masters and tell them that as long as the elven forest of Quel'Thalas stands, we will be there to defend it from any attacker, be he demon, troll, beast, man, or even elf. Any who threaten our great nation shall fall under the mighty blade of the Draconis Clan!' And with that, he grabbed his tail and threw him into the portal, into unknown horrors. All that came back was the sky warriors sword spear. They grasped it and held it high, proclaiming the weapon sacred. The portal, after being appeased by a sacrifice as great as such, was closed.

"The sky warriors returned to the surface to find the cultists and beasts being pushed back by the full force of the mighty Silvermoon army! They surveyed the great battle, and knew it was great. Once every last beast and traitor was slain, the sky warriors called their mighty flaming chariots, and gave praise to the city. 'Your bravery, valor, and courage is admired by we Draconis sky warriors! Know that you are counted as a battle brother, and so we shall aid you in your times of need.' And with that, they returned to whence they came."

He leaned forward, grinning. "Ah, I love that story... gets me worked up every time. I see that look of confusion. You see the sky warriors are a sort of legend amongst my clan, my people. We believe this is where the first of the clan warriors came from, and the blessing was believed to anoint the first mortal Draconis clanners. Ah, but enough of my people..."

The stranger looked up. "Maybe one day the sky warriors will return and help my clan regrow. But until then, they will watch for forces such as Hidetrax. What's that? Yes, it's just a story... right? Let me just ask you this? When you ever venture to Silvermoon, ask yourself this: The rocks with the eyes... who's eyes are they?"