Champion's Calling

[CappnRob]

              A small, ornately designed circular discuss lays inside of a dimly lit room, dust in the air floating visibly in the streaks of light that break through the darkness. A purple gemstone embedded in the center of the alternating gold and silver metallic patterns sits there dully, seemingly unpolished for years. Then, with a soundless flicker, begins to glow. Slowly at first, then accelerates until the flickering becomes a constant source of illumination. Parts on the edge of the device start to rotate around, with thin metal "teeth" flicking upward and inward in a fashion similar to a record player. They draw in the small glow from the gemstone, which then hums to life with a crackle. The light intensifies, a soft bluish hue now lighting up the entire room, like the sun just before dawn. Now visible beside the device are a few nick-knacks covered in dust; a brittle looking wooden tube with an old parchment rolled up inside that is partially slid out, a pressed flower native to the swamps of Draenor, perfectly preserved from the day it was plucked, and a few assortment of gemstones and ores, all small and rather worthless for their size.


              A sound then crackles from the glowing discuss. Distorted at first, the needle-like arms move about and rotate around, causing the noise to warp before finally normalizing. It is someone's voice, deep and low sounding, with a bit of a guttural texture.


              "Hello, visitor. I know not when you may find this recording, but that matters not. This... is an audio journal. A voice recording of my life, my deeds, and if you care to know them, then feel free to listen on. If not... then go about your business as you were."


              There is a short pause.


              "At the time of this initial recording... I am over some eight-thousand years old. My name is Gantrithor, and I am of the people called Draenei. Exiled Ones, in our own tongue, a people who have lived their eternal lives fleeing from betrayers in our own ranks. All those centuries long since past... and yet, I find myself struggling to recall anything worthwhile to say that has not occurred within the past recent millennium."


              The machine warbles for a quick moment.


              "I was born on a vessel that traversed the very fabric of reality itself... we gave it no name of our own, but in its own time it would be come to known as Oshu'gun, the mountain of spirits. It was given to us by Naaru... celestial beings of pure Light. Holy Light. Divine magical power makes up their entire being, and because of them we were saved from total destruction. They gifted us this vessel to travel across the twisting nether in safety until we found a new place to call home."


              "For most of my own life, though... this place was my home. It was a cramped place, even for its size and our few numbers... well, relative few anyway. I was born in the halls of our vessel, and from childhood until just over a thousand years ago, it was all I ever knew. I was raised to be a vindicator... a proud, powerful warrior in my people's culture who train using holy power as their weapons to battle the demons who drove us into exile. My father, he too was a vindicator, as was his father before him..."


              "Hrmph. Getting ahead of myself, there. It would be another seven thousand years before we settled Draenor. As I was sayyyyyyyyyyiiiiiiiiii-ing-", the voice distorts and the crystal projector shorts out, the light going dim. The arms spin and wave around, seemingly working to repair the damage, but for now it seems the device is out of commission. Perhaps it will be working again another day. You should come back some other time.

[CappnRob]

              There is a distortion heard, and the mechanical arms stop moving. There's a buzzing hum, and the crystal flicks to life again, once more illuminating the room with its delicate glow. The voice once more resumes speaking...

              "As I was saying, for almost all of my life I lived on the dimensional fortress controlled by the Naaru K'ure. I was one of the thousands born without a world to call a home, for we never settled very long for fear of the Legion overcoming us. Such was our existence for twenty-five thousand years... and perhaps, I suppose that fear is partially what lead to me becoming the man I was."

              Another pause. There's an audible shuffling of materials, and what sounds like someone sitting down rather heavily.

              "We draenei are known for an altruistic, peaceful culture. We like to keep to ourselves, not disturb others, so ooon and so forth. Well, let me be the first to tell you that such a culture is bloody well hard to uphold among youths! People always say we're saints, that we're perfect... heheh. Oh, those conceptions make me laugh to myself. Children will always be... children. And of course, I was no different."

              There's the sound of a chair creaking as the unseen narrator leans back.

              "I've always been something of what you could call... a bonehead. Or impulsive. Maybe a bit... erhhh, hot headed. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm a bit of an idiot. Always rushing into my problems head first to tackle them before they get worse. Very peculiar for a draenei, some would say, but not all of us can be wise old sages who bide their time for the most perfect plan of action. Like I said, the fear that gripped my people as we traveled the Nether built up a bit of a rebel in me, I imagine. Part of the reason I became a vindicator was because of my father being one, and his father before him. A family tradition. The other reason was because I was just damn vindictive in my youth!"

              The draenei's voice bellows into a loud, somewhat grating laughter. It goes on for a few seconds, followed by a clearing of the throat.

              "Mm-hmm. Ah, forgive me. Bad habit and all... where was I? Yes, yes... I was a hot blooded child, to say the least. Always getting involved with other people's business... always sticking my nose where it did not belong. As a youth, I distinctly recall a few times where the other apprentices would frustrate me, and I would retaliate... a bit aggressively. Most notable was the time they insulted my grandfather because they disliked his training techniques. I tackled him down and they had to bring in an anchorite to put his teeth in straight!"

              There's another heavy bout of laughter.

              "Ahhh... that was bad of me. But, boys will be boys. My brother was immensely dissapointed with me... but then again, Uri always was my total opposite. Let me tell you some about him... I suppose a good place to start is how he's some several thousand years my elder. It was always so strange during my childhood, my brother wanting to play with me, and people mistaking him for our father. Easy to understand, though... father was a busy man with the vindicators. In a sense, Uri raised half of me, because I saw father mostly during my training sessions. Anyway... Uri was the jovival, peaceful spirit to my... hot-blooded heroics, I suppose I'll call it. He married quite young... I forget if he married before or after I was born, though. He and his wife- Bihotz, by the by- they had many children. Most draenei couples who are old enough, they may have one, two.... maybe three or four children... over thousands of years. Uri and Bihotz? Last I checked, they had... maybe ten? Bah, I forget! But it is a lot!"

              Gantrithor's voice trails off, sighing heavily as a thought catches up to him.

              "I'm not a very good brother to Uri, though... I hope some day to make right the things I did wrong by him. Who knows... at any rate. that was more or less my life on the Oshu'gun... I mean, I had seven thousand years of life there, but very little of it was... notable. Sticks to me emotionally.... I grew up, matured into a fine specimen of a man. My bone-headedness was augmented by not being... particularly inclined, academically. I'm not saying I'm stupid, oh Light, no... well, I have done plenty of stupid things before, but that's not what I'm talking about. I was just always a more physically inclined guy. Strength of body, and all that. I was a skilled blacksmith, too, which is where most of my intellectual pursuits were focused- I could identify the properties of any crystal or metal, no matter how rough, with just a simple casual look over!"

              There is a brief silence, and the sound of a rustling pouch, followed the clattering of small, dense objects. They're sifted around, scraping across the floor they were placed upon, the Draenei's voice muttering quietly, indiscernible.

              "Adamantite... beautiful. Brilliant shade of blue... I was always partial to it, reminded me of my own people. Strong, nigh unbreakable... it is my favored metal of Draenor. Eternium, Khorium.... they just can't compare, I don't think. But, I'm rambling now. I'm not making this audio log to rave about the nuances of ore and stone. Let me tell you about my thousand years on Draenor..."