Posts from the 'Roleplaying' Category
Rags, a rusted dagger and a strange urge
I remember it like yesterday. That one defining moment. My death. The plague had ravaged the lands. There were almost none left alive. It was not a quick death. It was not a painless death. It was a truly horrible death. The sickness came slowly. It was in my lungs, my liver, my heart. It infected my very soul. Pain like a thousand needles all over my body. Rotting flesh. Then death. I was not dead for long they said. A few weeks. That is what I would consider dead for a long time. A few weeks. The thought lingered for a while and Sashyah found herself staring at the large chunk of bread in front of her. She took a piece of it and put it in her mouth. It tasted nothing. When I first opened my eyes. I was frightened. Cold. Alone. I was one of many bodies of dead humans. Stacked like wood in a damp crypt. I was surprised, one might say. I felt pain, yet it was not as intense as I thought it ought to be. I felt the cold and the dripping water, yet it was not unbearable.
Cruel Fate – Part 2: The Thieves
Part 2 – The Thieves
Feya looked out over Ratchet, as she stepped off the boat, which had just finished its voyage from Booty Bay. The coastal town, a haven for seafarers located in the savannah known as The Barrens, looked busy. Everywhere in the town, merchants peddled their goods from wooden stalls, the sounds of hammering and tinkering audible over the noise of the crowd, who moved from building to dusty building, going about their daily work. This was a town built on trade, and transport. Cargo was being hauled off the boat, replaced almost instantly by more goods, destined for the Eastern Kingdoms and the jungles of Stranglethorn, where they would be carried via caravan northwards towards Stormwind, the city of humans.
Her nose crinkled slightly in her contempt for the humans. Such a temperamental race, she thought, brushing stray strands of black hair back behind her long, slender ears. These protracted ears and her dark blue skin marked her as a night-elf, however, in such a place as this, race was never an issue, although a few short hours up the road in Orgrimmar, she would be attacked on sight simply for being born to her race.
She sighed at the futility of the world, and continued onwards, departing the dock area. She scanned the town, and saw a large two-storey building, with tables and chairs outside it, various people sipping drinks, playing games of chance and eating. The inn would be her place of rest for a few nights, for however long it took to complete the assignment and be off again. As she neared the inn, a familiar voice piped up behind her.
Cruel Fate – Part 1
((This is the first half of my recent entry into Blizzard’s Creative Writing contest. I put only the first part up for now because of the length. Bear in mind I had to rush this a bit, as I only found out about the contest about 3 days before it ended, so some descriptions are a bit underdone, etc etc. More to come soon though, perhaps!))
There are people who believe that whenever we begin a significant journey in our lives, the outcome of that journey is predetermined before you even embark upon it. Some choose to call it fate, or destiny, while to others such results may appear as only a series of coincidences, a myriad of intertwining choices and possibilities, all affecting certain lives in certain ways. Most wise men know that even the gods and goddesses of this realm have little or no control over this chaos, although many of the deities try their hand at changing certain pathways, attempting like so many before them to control, through subtle guidance of a mortal being.
The god-touched, while often becoming prominent amongst their peers, very rarely know who they are, although a few figures stand out in our world’s history. The High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind is one obvious choice at least, whose relationship with the gods surpassed a mere worshipper during the First Great War. Dare I mention Thrall, or even Arthas? Their paths are surely what those people who believe such things would call ‘fate’.
A Cold Dark Road
As he looked around the battlefield the large Tauren couldn’t escape a grim smile as he looked upon the corpses of the four dragons and their minions. As he turned away from the bloody mess he had help create he smiled broadly at his companions. Most of them resting from the heavy battle. A few fellow Tauren licking their wounds, the healers taking care of the more critically wounded. It pleased the big tauren to see that he and his friends had lived through another challenge. As he thought about the challenges ahead he walked towards the quick campfire that had been created, thinking about the road that took him there.
Only a few months before that fight the cold dark embrace of death I had felt for so long had suddenly lifted. As I came into consciousness I heard whispers in my head, a strong voice giving me directions. Telling me to slaughter innocents, to murder everyone. Without regret, sorrow or hesitation I followed orders until one day… nothing. No voice, no orders, no directions. As I strolled around Acherus he noticed more people in confusion, and then a strong presence entered the room telling us were were free, given us instructions to pledge allegiance to our new leaders.
Echoes of a Killer
Hey all, this is an RP story from back when Jinjiro was a human (my char on Scarshield Legion). I posted it in the forums but Anub thought it might be good to chuck it on the blog and graciously gave me an account to do so!
Enjoy!
Wind whipped at the solitary rider, high above the sweltering canyons and mines of the Searing Gorge, as he tightly gripped the reins of the armoured war gryphon that bore him swiftly away from the scene of the crime. Smoke rose up from the great forges and lava-filled trenches of the huge ravine below him, creating grey tentacles that clutched at the night sky, streaks of darker black against the night sky.
…and smoke curled languidly up from the small bonfire, as the small child sat, poking the lazily glowing ashes with a thin branch, gazing up at the throng of men that moved about him, oblivious. Men who roasted pigs over much larger, roaring flames, and laughed gruffly, pouring greasy-looking liquid down their throats…
As the great winged beast soared higher on a warmer blanket of air, making the aerial ride slightly more comfortable, Jinjiro glanced down at his right hand, blood still staining his skin where it had gushed outwards from the surely fatal wound he had inflicted on the General.