Viewing Single Post From: Fremskritt's World of Warcraft fanfic thread

Viewing Single Post From: Fremskritt's World of Warcraft fanfic thread
Fremskritt	Apr 14 2008, 05:05 PM
The poster formerly known as TP Posts: 11,047 Group: Members Member #22 Joined: October 30, 2005 Gender Male	Yup, that's right, the semi-super TP is going to share his stories with you. I got so much hanging around in my head I figured I should get it down "on paper" so to speak. I'm a great fan of the Warcraft universe (hell, I even spent $40 on some of the books they write to milk us fans even more, and I don't regret it), and since I'm quite immersed into that universe, I'll probbly be writing a lot of it, but no promises. One It was a mighty sight to see the cliffs shoot down from the sky and into the sea. It was a long way down standing on the Thandol Span, the bridge between the two continents. The bridge had seen its better days, so much was for sure, once there had been two spans over this short stretch of water, but one had collapsed a long time ago. The work of her people? She didn't know. At least the bridge span that was still standing stood firm, even though it had been battered by... by what? She didnt know. Rocks were protruding from the stone in was made of, and there were cracks that were clearly made by other rocks. This might have been a battlefield during the Second War, and it wouldn't surprise her if that was the truth, south of here were the dwarven lands of Khaz Modan, which the Horde had occupied during the short years the war had lasted. She was standing on historical ground now. Would she continue south or retreat back to Hammerfall? South. She wanted to see the lands her ancestors had fought and died on, to honor their spirits, even though it was at a great personal risk. These were Alliance lands, and an orc like her wouldn't be a welcome sight. She mounted her great white wolf, which she had gotten as a gift from the Frostwolf clan, as recognition for her services to them. "Winterstorm" had they called him, and he lived up to his name. He was swift as the winds, and white as snow, loyally letting her ride him wherever she wanted. She didn't have to tell him where to go, she had a way with the beasts of the wild, and Winterstorm was no exception. She just had to hold his reins so she didn't fall off as easily, the great frostwolf always knew where she wanted to be, and he wouldn't stop until she was there. In return she made sure he never went hungry or thirsty. Winterstorm let out a loud howl and starting running southwards towards Dun Modr. Luckily that place was a little away from the road, so she didn't fear dwarves there. Soon after she would have to leave the road though, and go southeastwards, towards Grim Batol, where the Horde had once held the brood mother of the Red Dragonflight captive. Those must have been glorious days, riding the back of the mighty dragons, raining fire and destruction onto everybody who dared oppose the Horde. She wished she was there, to see such sights, listen to the speeches of Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer himself, and join in the cheers as he bellowed his vision for a better future. Alas, Doomhammer had fallen, slain by a coward's blow from behind. At least his successor, Thrall of the Frostwolf clan had proven to be just as honorable, strong and brave as the old hero of the Horde. She took pride in serving under him, helping rebuild the Horde and move it along the right path, following their ancestors' footsteps. But first she wanted to see Grim Batol. Winterstorm kept running, the spirits of the wild guiding him and his rider towards their destination. She made sure to stay out of sight, she didn't want to be spotted, not now that she wasn't there to pick a fight. If someone did spot her and raised the alarm she would be ready though. She asked the spirits of the wild to grant her the senses to notice followers from way off, and her plea was answered. With her now even keener senses she felt much safer here, as she was moving deeper into Alliance territory. She made camp just north of the pass that led up to the entrance of Grim Batol. Tomorrow she would make her way up there, past the dragons that guarded it. People, neither Horde nor Alliance ventured here often, so she could attune her senses to the dragonkin that she had to pass to reach her goal, especially the mature ones, who would surely incerinate her on sight. The Red Dragonflight hadn't forgotten what her kin had done to their brood mother all those years ago. She fed Winterstorm and thanked the spirits of the wild for keeping her safe this far. It was a thin link she had to them, but they always answered her calls. Her bond to them was strong, she honored them, and in return they granted her extraordinarily sharp senses. She didn't communicate with them like the shamans did, they never talked to her, but she felt their presence all around her. She laid down on her back, Winterstorm firmly asleep beside her, and looked at the stars. It was a sight that always filled her with awe. What was she, compared to the vastness of everything around her? At times like this she felt her bind with the spirits extra strongly, which made her even more awed. They were caring for her, just as she cared for everything living. She didn't kill anything until she knew she had their blessings. That was hunting. Killing without counseling nature itself was murder in her eyes. It was this respect that gave her the powers she had. She fell asleep. The next morning she packed up quickly, mounter Winterstorm, and made her way. Asking the spirits of the wild to warn her if there was a dragon close, she pushed her majestic white wolf as hard as she dared. She could of course ask the spirits to guide the dragons away from her, but that would be too much to ask. Dragons were very independent creatures, and rarely submitted to the call of nature. So she avoided them all. She was sure she would take on a few of the lesser ones, those who still hadn't reached maturity, but she didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. The sound of battle might alert the older ones that their young were in peril, and she didn't want that. Besides, she wasn't here to slay dragons, but to see the lands where her ancestors had walked. She wished she had been there. As a youngling she had heard so many tales of the glorious battles that had been fought, and now that she had come of age she had the chance to at least see what had become of the lands the orcs had conquered. The Alliance had taken them back, and the Horde had moved across the Great Sea, to Kalimdor, and made their new home there. What Doomhammer had promised Thrall had done, the orcs had their own land, Durotar, named after the father of Warchief Thrall, where the orcs could settle down and raise their families. She didn't go here just to see the sights, she realized. She did it to honor those who had fallen so that her people would have a future. Finally she stood at the gates of Grim Batol. There were no dragons around, neither young nor old. She looked at them. They were huge. What was inside them? She tried to open them, but they wouldn't budge. Was there a secret password she had to utter? And if there was, what was it? She didn't know. She could only imagine what it had been like, seeing those incredibly large doors open up into the mountain. Winterstorm howled. There was a reason the orcs had bonded so tightly to the wolves are they had. Those strong, fierce and loyal creatures were highly prized for their speed and stamina. Even though she knew how to ride all kinds of different mounts she never felt as welcome as on the back of a wolf, especially Winterstorm. But behind those doors dragon riders had been trained. Dragons. Dragons! She could hardly believe it, but it was true. How could the Horde have lost the Second War with such mighty allies? But then, did it matter? Thrall had set them free, and given her the chance to stand here, awed by the deeds of those who had gone before her. Pride swelled in her heart. Even though she had to stop here, her trek hadn't been in vain. She had come closer to her ancestors, which was reward enough in itself. Yes, she, Lieutenant General Varulva was worth her place in the New Horde under the leadership of Thrall. To be continued...


Fremskritt's World of Warcraft fanfic thread · Creative Corner