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| Fremskritt's World of Warcraft fanfic thread | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 14 2008, 05:05 PM (1,099 Views) | |
| Fremskritt | Apr 14 2008, 05:05 PM Post #1 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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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... |
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| Joshuwolf | Apr 16 2008, 05:59 AM Post #2 |
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NumberVI_TheCloakedSchemer__
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Nice man. It was well written, VERY well written IMO. I don't have much to do with WoW but you've portrayed the hunter well (it was a hunter . . Right?) on her beliefs and how she should be, like free-spirited and having ties to nature and everything. Well done. =] |
| Tonight! Rat poison for dinner! Pull the cord from the phone, I am dining alone. | |
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| Fremskritt | Apr 17 2008, 12:14 PM Post #3 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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Thanks, I'll see if I can cook up another part of the story (with more action this time ) soon, I hope you'll appreciate it just as much.
And yes, the main character is a hunter, which "incidentally" is my main WoW character. |
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| Dark Death | Apr 27 2008, 09:10 PM Post #4 |
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Queen of all lesser mortals
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Nice, really liked it. |
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~every breath you take, brings you closer to death~ ~Dark Death~ | |
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| Fremskritt | May 1 2008, 07:17 AM Post #5 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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It's about time I wrote another installment about my huntress (loosely based upon my adventures with her in-game). Thanks for the comments so far, I hope you'll enjoy this part just as much. ![]() Two Winterstorm growled. He didn't like standing around when someone was sitting on his back. But Varulva was reluctant to enter the Blasted Lands. She had never liked the place, it was full of everything she hated. Demons, corruption, even the legendary Dark Portal through which her kin had come into this world. She had to move on though, the Portal had been reopened, and demons from the other side had been swarming through like the Horde had done so many decades ago when they came to Azeroth to plunder and burn. It was a part of her history which she was not proud of. Finally she found the resolve to move on. The demons had been pushed back, and a heroic effort was being led on the other side to keep them at bay, and it was her duty to do whatever she could to help. The Portal lay at the bottom of a big crater. What had formed it she didn't know, and didn't really care about, except for the fact she didn't want to be here. But she had her duties, so she reported to Warlord Dar'toon at the camp just at the feet of the portal. He ordered her through the portal, to report to Lieutenant General Orion on the other side. She saluted him and made her way. She had expected some kind of movement when she stepped through the portal, but there wasn't. One step she was back in Azeroth, on the next she was on Draenor, the homeworld of her race, now known as Outland. The portal was much bigger on the other side. How was that possible? She didn't brood much about this though, because once she was fully through she felt... abandoned. It was like a big part of herself had been ripped away from her. The spirits! They were gone! The bond she had felt ever since she had left the Valley of Trials and had gotten stronger ever since had vanished. Why? What had she done? She tried taking on the aspect of the monkey. She immediately felt more agile, but her eyesight got worse. Then she took on the aspect of the hawk again. Her eyesight got better again, just as good as it had been. So no, the spirits hadn't left her. She came to a grim realization. The spirits of the wild here were gone. She looked down the huge stairs in front of her. At the bottom of the stairs soldiers of both the Horde and Alliance were fighting the demons trying to ascend the stairs. Behind that she saw... she couldn't believe it. The land was dead. Truly dead. Even the Blasted Lands had showed some sign of life. She wanted to cry for the land's sake, but she didn't. Orcs don't cry. She held back the tears. She walked down the stairs, at a total loss of what to do. She had been so used to being immersed in the spirits of the wild that their sudden withdrawal had come as a shock to her. But she had to move on. She had her orders to talk to a Lieutenant General Orion. That sounded like an elven name, so she looked around for a blood elf. The Warlord surely didn't expect her to report to a night elf? But she didn't see a single blood elf on the stairs, so she asked the orc who looked like he was in charge for him. "You are talking to him right now," was the answer she got. Surprised, she uttered "Lieutenant General Varulva reporting in." Orion chuckled. "Another fresh recruit looking for a silly elf," he said. "I get lots of those." "I'm sorry," Varulva apologized. "I'ts alright," Orion responded. "It's good to see a female officer for once, I take it you're here to help in the war against the Burning Legion?" "That is correct," Varulva replied. "For the Horde!" "Well, we have enough people in command here at the Stairs of Destiny," Orion said. "Talk to Vlagga Freyfeather over there, she will put you on a wind rider to Thrallmar, I'm sure Nazgrel will find something to do for you." He signed the papers that Warlord Dar'toon had given her. "Welcome home," he joked. The flight to Thrallmar left Varulva thinking. She missed the presence of the spirits badly, but at least she still had their gifts. She looked down on the barren plains of Hellfire Peninsula. The place had become infested with demons and their ilk. Infernals, dreadlords, succubi, felguards, even new kinds of demons she hadn't seen yet. It angered her to see a place so defiled by demonic presence, and she vowed to do everything she could to restore the spirits to this world. Everything fit together in the Order of Things, except demons. Demons just wanted to upset the Order, and she would fight them for all eternity for that if she could. With her eagle-sharp eyes she saw every single little detail on the dead ground. She might not have the immersion in the spirits of the wild, but she would not give up. She swore on her own life that she would rid Outland of this foul invasion, even if it meant her death. Finally she saw an orc tower in the horizon. That had to be Thrallmar, another place named after a legendary Warchief. That was the way things were supposed to be, honoring the spirits and their ancestors. Warchief Thrall was a living legend already and certainly deserved having the forward base of the Horde in Outland named after him, just as he had named the capital of the new orc homelands, Orgrimmar, after his predecessor. And now the time had come to reclaim their old homeworld, ripped apart by demonic magic, the same magic that had forced the Horde into Azeroth, where it had caused much misery before it had been beaten. And now Varulva, daughter of Rokar, was here to redeem her kin. She looked forward to it. Her mouth watered at the prospect of slaughter. Edited by Fremskritt, Jun 9 2008, 02:21 PM.
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| Joshuwolf | May 1 2008, 05:48 PM Post #6 |
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NumberVI_TheCloakedSchemer__
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Wel written.
..I thought the Outland was torn asunder and completely destroyed =S |
| Tonight! Rat poison for dinner! Pull the cord from the phone, I am dining alone. | |
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| Fremskritt | May 2 2008, 05:03 AM Post #7 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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Did you play Warcraft III? I'm afraid it's not as easy as that. Outland is pretty much what's left of Draenor after Ner'zhul tore the world asunder. Check out www.wowwiki.com for lore, it's a great site for that. And before I forget it, thanks for the heads up!
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| Joshuwolf | May 3 2008, 01:49 AM Post #8 |
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NumberVI_TheCloakedSchemer__
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Ahh. That'd be the reason. I only played WCIII I haven't played WoW.. Gave up when it wouldn't install. |
| Tonight! Rat poison for dinner! Pull the cord from the phone, I am dining alone. | |
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| Fremskritt | May 3 2008, 05:21 AM Post #9 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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You played the WCIII expansion then? You don't need to play WoW to know what happened to Draenor.
But still, the whole first WoW expansion is based on running around in Outland (well, at least 98% of it) killing foozles, so yeah, Outland is very much inhabitable. ![]() If you want to look at plot holes, look somewhere else in the lore, it's full of them, most notably that silly spaceship the Draenei came to Azeroth with. Oo |
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| Joshuwolf | May 4 2008, 03:54 AM Post #10 |
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NumberVI_TheCloakedSchemer__
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Ohhh.. I haven't really played the campaign.. I just thought that is was still destroyed. Eh. I play bettle.net mainly. That'd be why I've forgotten about what happened to Draenor completely. |
| Tonight! Rat poison for dinner! Pull the cord from the phone, I am dining alone. | |
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| Fremskritt | May 10 2008, 06:45 AM Post #11 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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Three Thrallmar lay in the middle of a war zone, so much was for sure. Everywhere grunts were training, honing their skill for use just outside the wooden walls. Overseers were shouting at them to train harder, whipping them into a frenzy. Varulva was glad she didn't have to join the fray, she wanted to go out there and slay demons as quickly as she could. Thrallmar was situated just north of Path of Glory, where decades ago the Orcish Horde had marched towards their destiny on the other side of the Dark Portal. She wanted to see the place, including Hellfire Citadel, which it was said still was the base of the fel orcs on Hellfire Peninsula. She watched the wolf rider patrol depart. Brave warriors scouting the dirt road down to the path, keeping it clear. Soon the Horde would launch an offensive against the Stair of Destiny, on top of which the Dark Portal lay. The circle was closed, again the Horde would lead an offensive up those stairs, only this time to rejoin the forces on the Stair, crushing the soldiers of the Burning Legion between them. But first the portals through which the demon army were coming through had to be shut down. Of course she had volunteered. She hated demons, the evil beings who reveled in destroying everything she held dear. The Path itself was infested with fel orcs. She could recognize their red skin and huge fangs from far, far away. Traitors, she thought. But then she felt a pang of guilt. The same tainted blood they had drunk still flowed in her veins. She could almost feel it burning. Damn her parents to have cursed her with this demonic presence even in her own body! But at least her skin was a healthy green, not an unnatural red like these... she had no words for how much she despised her red cousins. The felblood was burning in her. She decided to release it, entering a blood rage and charged in, shooting arrows as fast as she could aim, and swinging her swords at any red orc who came too close. It was over in minutes, the dead ground was drenched in the tainted blood of the pit lord who had given his blood to these monsters. She let out a battle cry. Then she collapsed on the ground, like she always did after succumbing to the blood fury. How ironic she thought, that the same taint she was bearing would be used against the former masters of the Horde. She got up fast though, if she stayed for too long someone was bound to find her. So she mounted Winterstorm. Feeling his white fur between her legs calmed her, at least her trusty riding wolf was uncorrupted. Knowing instinctively where she wanted to be, Winterstorm ran off towards the forward base where she had been assigned. While travelling along the Path of Glory she looked at the shattered land. There was no life to be seen anywhere. Was this really the home world of her people? Conflicting feelings raced through her mind. On one hand she mourned the loss of life in the very ground itself, on the other hand she felt proud that she was now walking the path of her ancestors. What had it been like to march towards the honour and glory that awaited them on the other side of the portal? Well, it didn't matter. Again orcs where travelling the Path, this time not for conquest, but for redemption. At the forward base she ate heartily. And of course some dim-wit male had to comment on it. "Watch your figure now, huh?" someone joked. She ignored him. It was halfway funny the first time she heard it, now it was just annoying. With so few female officers you would think that the males had more respect for her if they wanted to make out with her, but no. So she finished her meal, packed with energy for her mission. It had been standard field rations, full of nutrition, but not really tasty, not to mention the bad taste it left in her mouth afterwards. It made her want to kill something in a really gory fashion. But that was the point of Horde field rations she knew, to nourish, and to encourage charging into battle with bloodlust in their eyes and hearts. Her first mission was an airborne one. This came as a surprise to her, as she had never used wind riders directly for war. Still she found herself on the back of a heavily armoured one, clutching a pack of bombs to blow up the Legion gateways. Again the Horde had enlisted the aid of the goblins in their war efforts it seemed. Well, it made sense, war meant huge profit for the goblins, and profit was what they lived (and not too seldomly died) for. She wasn't used to throwing stuff, so her aim wasn't as perfect as it was with her bow, but she managed to destroy her targets anyway. 2 of 4 down. She was filled with pride at her accomplishment. The last two portals were only reachable by foot for some reason. It didn't matter to her though, she would fight Sargeras himself if that was needed to put an end to the Burning Legion. Actually, to be honest with herself, she probably had to do that sooner or later anyway, but for now stemming the tide of demons would suffice. And she got to kill demons too. Lots of them. So she called her black tiger companion to aid her. She had named him Lakris, but what his real name was she had no idea, if he even had one. With a wave of her hand she commanded him to attack a felguard, with his felhound pet. With a low snarl she raised her bow and aimed at the foul creature. The blood rage was pumping in her veins, wanting to be released. But she wanted to save it for when it was needed. She couldn't let the red haze that appeared in front of her eyes when she let it take control of her affect her aim. The arrow flew through the air, seeking its target. It hit the demon straight in the chest, but it didn't go down yet. Carefully she aimed another shot. Lakris was keeping the two vile destroyers occupied, but she knew that the felguard would soon take notice of the little green girl shooting at him. She'd better kill him before then. Again she hit him right in the chest, and just as she had predicted, he came running for her. Quickly she imbued an arrow with arcane magic and let it go. That was too much for the demon. Now for the hound. That one went down with one shot. She could feel the adrenaline rushing through her body. Ah, the thrill of the hunt, it was so much sweeter when she was hunting down and killing the very beings that seeked to destroy the very nature she was so immersed in... Well, when she wasn't in such totally dead places like Hellfire Peninsula of course. Her next target was a dreadlord. He didn't have an annoying pet which she had to deal with, so she ordered Lakris to strike while putting an arrow to her bow and aiming. Critical hit! The dreadlord instantly turned his attention to her. Damn! Again she imbued an arrow with arcane magic and let it go. The dreadlord didn't flinch. She pulled out her swords and got ready to engage him in in close combat. Once the demon was close enough she flung herself around in a pirouette to perform a "Wing clip" strike to slow down her adversary. She dodged the blow of the demon and flung herself around again, performing a "Mongoose bite" before she ran away. Slowed, the demon couldn't keep up with her, so she had time to imbue another arrow. The dreadlord wouldn't go down yet though, even with three arrows poking out of various parts of his body. Damn again! She got ready to do a "Raptor strike" on him once he came close enough. She hit the creature hard, but this time she couldn't dodge his retaliation in time. The demon made a huge gash down her forearm, which made her almost cry out in pain. She had to wing clip him again to get away, but the pain in her right arm wouldn't let her. Her attacks hardly made a dent in the demon's thick armour, and only being able to use her left hand didn't help either. In the meantime blood was streaming out of the deep wound on her right arm. It was over, she was sure. But she would fight on until the end, she would die standing in glorious battle, so that tales would be told about her, giving her life for a greater cause. With a wicked smile the dreadlord got ready for the killing blow. He struck, but she managed to parry. Annoyed, the demon got ready to strike again, but stopped. She heard a battle shout from behind him and attuned her senses. Yes, help had arrived! Quickly she feigned her death so that her opponent would concentrate on her saviour while she tried to bandage the gushing wound the demon had inflicted on her. It went deeper than she had thought, she doubted she could stop the bleeding entirely, but she might at least be able to hold some of it back until she got back to the forward base. She tried to raise her bow. She could do it, but her arm was shaking too much from the damage to hold it still. In the meantime the demon had fallen and she could see a male dressed in the garb of a shaman muttering something and gesticulating. Only seconds later her right arm was engulfed in green light and she could feel the wound closing. She stormed forward and hugged the shaman hard. "You saved my life!" she said to him. "My pleasure, Lieutenant General," he answered. "We need all the hands we can get if we are to win this war. The spirits have left this land, there is only a faint presence left, but it's enough to keep me going." "So you can feel it too," she said. "Of course I can," he bit back. "Why do you think I am here? I'm lost without their guidance! We have to make up for past wrongs and return the spirits on Outland, and our quest starts here in this broken land." "My sincere apologies," she muttered. "It seems we are on the same quest then." "For sure we are. We shouldn't go our separate ways, going alone is a fool's errand here, just look at yourself." Ashamed of herself, she blushed. Getting even more ashamed of this, she turned around, she didn't want anybody to see it. His name was Multane, and together they cleared the way through a horde of demon invaders to the gateways to destroy them. Multane, not being content with just standing back and calling on the aid of the spirits to keep her wounds closed actually joined the fray, unleashing his rage against the vile corruptors. Together they let the blood fury take over in a righteous rage against their formers oppressors and returned victorious to the forward base. There they reciebed their honours before wolfing down their supper, which was just as bad as the field rations, then they went to bed and made love. They both felt they deserved it after a hard day of demonslaying. Tomorrow the offensive against the Stair of Destiny would commence, and now that the Legion was cut off from reinforcements it would surely succeed. Then it would be time to root out the fel orcs. Panting, Varulva fell asleep, knowing that Multane would probably be gone in the morning. But she didn't care for emotional commitments. Once the spirits were back in Hellfire Peninsula to return life she would be immersed in the spirits of the wild once again, and that was a better feeling than any lover could give her. Edited by Fremskritt, Jun 9 2008, 02:21 PM.
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| Specialist290 | May 12 2008, 08:45 PM Post #12 |
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Admin-type Guy
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Finally got a chance to read this! As I expected from what I remembsered from our PW days, your writing is still quite good Can't wait to see the next chapter.
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![]() AK-47? Check Fedora? Check Fur coat? Check Sunglasses? Check Good to go... | |
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| Fremskritt | May 13 2008, 02:31 PM Post #13 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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Thanks, S290!
A shame the PW kinda died, ideas for stuff, especially alternate histories, still pop up in my mind, it's insane.
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| Specialist290 | May 13 2008, 03:59 PM Post #14 |
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Admin-type Guy
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Heh, same here sometimes
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![]() AK-47? Check Fedora? Check Fur coat? Check Sunglasses? Check Good to go... | |
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| Fremskritt | May 13 2008, 04:10 PM Post #15 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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Actually I'm considering writing a book about the life of zeh eemba TR, thing is, I got no idea how to contact all the people I need for permission to use their ideas. Also, I simply can't remember the name of one of the factions. |
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| Specialist290 | May 13 2008, 07:02 PM Post #16 |
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Admin-type Guy
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Which / whose faction was that? I might still remember... I've been contemplating writing some stuff loosely based on the concepts I had for the original RepOSpec (including some of the characters I created), though the setting would be vastly different. That's part of what inspired my whole "Final War" 'verse that I've created a little backstory for elsewhere, although it's been almost a year since I've actually done anything w/ it. |
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| Fremskritt | May 14 2008, 09:53 AM Post #17 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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Heh, I can't even remember whose faction it was, but I do remember that the poster who controlled it also controlled Minetnu/Shadowhawk. Another reason I loved the PW, everything was so intertwined, everybody wanted a piece of Raidercore, especially Tim Rayzor. As for the book, I'm picturing exploring Marianne's youth, from the time of the divorce and up to the assasination. Being the daughter of the ruler of 10 billion people isn't as easy as portrayed. It'll be about TR himself too, but always seen through his daughter's eyes. That's the plan at least, but if it's ever gonna happen is anyone's guess. But as for my fanfic, I never thought I'd get into the fanfic business, but I have great fun making up the story of my main WoW character, especially her past. The orcs in Warcraft are probably the race with the most fleshed out prehistory, and linking Varulva to that is an interesting challenge. Actually, what I'm writing is based upon what happened to me in the game, at least the main events. Lots will be skipped though, and I for sure don't really think like her while I play. The Varulva I portray in this fanfic is what I would want to be if I was a female orc in the Warcraft universe. The character I play in-game is just a base, her thoughts in this thread are hardly the same thoughts I have while I play, just so you know it. Episode four should be coming up soon btw, but I won't say when. |
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| Fremskritt | May 21 2008, 02:24 PM Post #18 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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About time I posted this. Server downtime for the lose. >< Four Decades ago the orcs had marched eastwards on the Path of Glory from Hellfire Citadel to the Dark Portal. Now they were back, at least some of them. Varulva could almost imagine the Horde marching towards their destiny where she stood on top of the Citadel, waiting to clear the ramparts of the presence of the fel orcs. In a way she pitied them, being left behind after the portal closed. But they had been drinking the blood of a pit lord ever since, and it showed on the colour of their skin. She wished she had been there when the Horde marched out, it must have been an epic sight. But that was in her past. The orcs had been ridding themselves of the demonic embrace that had turned this land barren, and were now back to reclaim their homeland, embracing the old ways of worshipping the elements. Taking Hellfire Citadel would be a huge victory. Finally Multane arrived and they could be on their way to sneak into the Citadel and take out the leaders of the fel orcs. These orcs were much better trained to be stationed here, in the base of the fel orcs in Hellfire Peninsula. These didn't go down as easily as the ones outside, but the warrior in the group, a stout Tauren named Greyhoof, was adept at keeping the red brutes away from the rest of the group. Their weapons were easily stopped by his heavy plate armour, and any wounds he got were quickly healed by the Forsaken priest, Jonathan Halsh. In the meantime Varulva, Multane and the Troll mage Van'jin used their axes, bow and fire spells to bring down the vile felblood-infused fel orcs that came in their way. The group was on a mission to slay the leaders of the Ramparts and bring back proof of their demise. The Horde knew of three high ranking officers in the Ramparts, Watchkeeper Gargolmar, some demon Highlord and Vazruden the Herald. The first two went down easily, but Vazruden was a hard fight. He was riding on a dragon of a kind that no member of the group had seen before. Once Vazruden noticed the presence of his would-be assasins he jumped off his dragon with the bold words "You have faced many challenges. Pity they were all in vain. Soon your people will kneel to my lord!". Varulva didn't understand what he meant. His lord? But there wasn't time to think, not only did the Herald fight better than any of the bloody corpses in their trail had done while still alive, his dragon mount was also breathing fire at them. A while into the fight it landed as well, fighting alongside its master, still breathing fire. But even Vazruden and his mount fell in the end. "My lord... will be the end of you all..." was the Herald's dying words. Another cryptic message. This had to be investigated further. But first they would go back to Thrallmar to have some well-earned rest. They didn't rest long. Scouts had reported suspicious activity in another part of Hellfire Citadel and Varulva's group was sent out to investigate further. The name of the place they were going to, the Blood Furnace, gave a huge hint at what was going on in there. Would they discover the source of the fel orcs' corruption? Multane was sure they would. He was eager to shed fel orc blood by the barrel load. His inspiring talk before they entered lifted their spirits and only proved that the shaman were the spiritual leaders of the Horde, and that Multane didn't shirk his duties. Like Varulva he was from the generation of orcs that had grown up after the Second War and were eager to follow their Warchief, the first new shaman since before the First War. Multane let let out a battle roar, and Varulva quickly joined in. The spirits, even though hardly present in this dead land, were with them. The Blood Furnace presented a different challenge than the Ramparts. There were stealthed rogues that made every step dangerous. Every single member of the group found a dagger in their back at least once. The priest was quick on his heals though, so even though Varulva was sure her left lung had been pierced, the wound closed before she could even blink. Greyhoof fought with the same vigour as Multane, fuelled by his rage. Even Varulva let the blood fury take over when she got especially agitated. It was the last vestige of the felblood that was stirring in her, but she reminded herself that she was doing this in service of the spirits, and that thought comforted her, especially the irony that the very blood that had corrupted the orcs was now turned against their former demon masters. Every room in the Furnace bore witness of what was going on in there. This was where the fel orcs got their blood. "There has to be a pit lord in here somewhere," Multane said. But where? From what Varulva had heard pit lords were huge, there was no way one could fit in here. The deeper they went, the more newly infused fel orcs did they meet though. The newly infused ones fought even more fiercely as they realized the power they had suddenly gotten. But Greyhoof didn't falter, he had his own reasons to fight the fel orcs, not only to honour the alliance between the Tauren and the orcs. There was a deeper reason than that, a reason Varulva had yet to grasp entirely. Finally the long winding corridors opened up in a huge hall. In the middle a pack of fel orc warlock were channeling a spell. But it was not that that got the group's attention. Below them they could see the pit lord that Multane had told them was in here. He was being held banished by five females, and the warlocks up here were helping them out. Then it struck her. She had seen no female fel orcs. This was the first time in Outland that she had actually seen a female that had not come back with the Horde. What puzzled her even more was the skin of the females down there. It was grey-black, like the skin of the orcs in Blackrock Spire back on Azeroth. Were these Blackrock orcs? In a way she felt sorry for the poor girls, the fel orcs had to reproduce somehow, and Varulva did not want to think of what those females down there had to go through. And for all she knew there might be more hidden away, maybe as prisoners. This madness had to be stopped. "Leave none alive!" she shouted. That was the cue for Greyhoof to charge in. "What are you doing?" the warlocks shouted. "He'll kill us all!" Varulva didn't care though. The thought of what her sisters were probably enduring right now enraged her. Her arrows easily pierced the light robes of the red brutes, and they fell one by one. One of them kept channeling though, until he realized he was the only one left standing. "What have you done?" he shouted. "You'll ruin everything!" This one clearly had his wits by him, because he fought much more efficiently, casting shadow bolts east and west and channeling up fire novae to burn them up. They dodged his fire novae though, and even though his shadow bolts hurt, he eventually fell like his comrades. Down below the five females kept channeling though. The pit lord had not broken free. Back in Thrallmar Nazgrel, the hand of the Warchief, congratulated them on their efforts. He would talk these new findings over with his councilors and even the Warchief himself. In the meantime they were dismissed. The group thanked each other for the company and broke up. That night Varulva and Multane made love again, healing the last mental scars of the shadow bolts. Multane feel soundly asleep after they were done, but Varulva stayed awake, wondering what this all meant. Most of all she was thinking of this sudden relationship to the shaman. Was this really what she wanted? Suddenly she felt confined, claustrophobic almost. This couldn't go on. She didn't want to bind herself to a male. She had to get away somehow. So she dressed up quietly and left like a thief on the night. Usually it was the other way round, with her waking up alone the morning after, but not this time. She had enjoyed her time with him, and that was all she asked of a male. Now she had to get away before before she got locked in with him. Edited by Fremskritt, Jun 9 2008, 02:22 PM.
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| Specialist290 | Jun 9 2008, 12:52 PM Post #19 |
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Admin-type Guy
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Interesting chapter. Nice that they managed to stop the summoning in time. Hmm... I vaguely remember that your stories used to be in a different font, but now it seems they're just larger... Has ZetaBoards stopped supporting different fonts? Maybe I'll just need to upload a few or something, if that's possible... EDIT: All right, did some digging, and support for different fonts hasn't been disabled; it just doesn't show up in the posting options (except maybe the full list). However, it seems the board converter just converted all instances of different font into just larger font. Edited by Specialist290, Jun 9 2008, 01:14 PM.
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![]() AK-47? Check Fedora? Check Fur coat? Check Sunglasses? Check Good to go... | |
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| Fremskritt | Jun 9 2008, 02:24 PM Post #20 |
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The poster formerly known as TP
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The font issue is a bug in the ZetaBoard conversion, I've redone the tags, it's fine now. And as for the summoning, the creature mentioned below is still there... But that's for later, Varulva isn't lvl 70 yet. :P |
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) soon, I hope you'll appreciate it just as much.

..I thought the Outland was torn asunder and completely destroyed =S

10:51 AM Jul 11