03-07-2006, 10:17 PM
(( This will be a series of short stories of varying lengths to give some insight into his character. The first is placed below, and others will be labeled with the title "ITEO The Maintainer - X" where "X" is the story title. For those of the Ironsong Tribe who wished to know a bit more of why I am around, these stories should be quite interesting. ))
In the Eastern Kingdoms, deep withing the Swamp of Sorrows...
Lurie S Elcari, self-titled (and for reasons not yet understood) "The Maintainer" trudged through the dank swamp. Each and every step he took sunk his hooves into the greenish mud, and every time he lifted them, a sickening wet popping noise was heard as they broke from the muck.
Lurie heaved, and released a deep sigh, his green armor and clothing rising and falling with his breath. He raised a hand to his hood and pulled it back a bit, as the moisture in the air had made it soggy and harder to cope with. Regardless, the protection was better than nothing. As he walked towards Stonard (where he hoped to speak to a flight master about leaving the eerie swamp) he heard some commotion. Immediately summoning the spirits to his aid, Lurie transformed into a mighty ghost wolf and sprinted in the direction of the noise.
It was not long before Lurie came across a young night-elf priestess, in mortal combat with two green dragon whelps, and losing. Well aware that the corruption spreading across the known world had indeed affected even the mighty dragons, and sensing nothing to indicate proper intent within the actions of these, he leapt to the night-elf's aid in both a literative and figurative sense. In mid-jump he regained his Tauren form and drew a wicked axe, the Force of the Hippogryph, its blade shaped much like three talons. Using his downward momentum to grant the blade even more force, Lurie buried it deep into the back of the closest whelp, killing it instantly.
A mere moment later, he grunted at a great blow dealt to his side. He could immediately feel the blood flowing from the wound the other whelp's tail had inflicted. Even as he turned he could see it preparing to strike again. Lurie pulled from his bags another object, and thrust it in the face of his enemy. A bright light filled the area as he held the Beacon of Hope, a lantern imbued with powerful divine light, up to the whelp. It recoiled immediately, and he used the moment to tuck his axe away and thrust his now spare hand towards the green dragonkin, summoning the spirits within the earth to, quite literally, shock and crush his enemy at the cost of some of his precious spirit energy.
Both whelps dead, a panting, wounded Lurie lowered both of his hands, and still in battle stance, looked over at the priestess, who seemed quite taken aback. Her eyes were wide with shock, probably both at having survived and at having been saved by a Tauren. Not hesitating a moment longer, she turned and ran, attempting to summon her holy magics to heal her injuries.
"You might have at the very least attempted to heal your savior before heading off," thought the slightly perturbed Lurie as he set his Beacon away and used his own magic to heal the wound on his side. Glancing at the deceased whelps, Lurie could see nothing to be gained from them at all. "At least that is one more vision the Alliance has at the prospect of allies among the Horde... though it will probably lead no where."
Lurie sighed once more. A light rain started, as if the world were sighing with him.
Glancing around the area, Lurie saw the obvious den of the whelps. Stepping curiously towards it, he saw movement. Looking into the shallow nesting area, he witnessed a newborn whelpling, emerald in color as its parents had been. It still meandered about the remains of its egg, and didn't seem to know what to do, being unable to fly yet with its still moist and weak wings. Lurie felt a sudden wave of guilt. He did not doubt his previous notion that the whelpling's parents had been corrupted by the same dark force that plagued all of Azeroth, but the fact remained that the little one still did not have parents. Seeking within himself enough calm to think clearly, Lurie focused all his spiritual insight upon the whelpling. As he did so, it looked him right in the eye.
After a few moments, Lurie clearly saw that no such corruption had reached the whelpling, which would almost certainly now die without its parents. Carefully, Lurie reached inside the den and pulled the whelpling from it. It squawked once, but not in a protesting manner. Lurie gazed mystically at what he now held, and in that moment saw a kind of innocence he'd never before witnessed in a creature so magical and ancient in nature as a dragonkin.
"I know not what will happen if you travel with me on my journey, little dragon," Lurie said as he stood up to his full height, "...but I would honor your companionship if you so desired it."
The dragonkin looked upon Lurie in a manner much like his ancestors, in that it somehow understood beyond all logic what Lurie was saying, even having just been born. In answer, it closed its eyes and bowed its head towards its parent's killer.
Lurie cradeled the tiny emerald whelpling in one massive arm, and once more adjusting his hood, continued his trek through the swamp, toward Stonard.
In the Eastern Kingdoms, deep withing the Swamp of Sorrows...
Lurie S Elcari, self-titled (and for reasons not yet understood) "The Maintainer" trudged through the dank swamp. Each and every step he took sunk his hooves into the greenish mud, and every time he lifted them, a sickening wet popping noise was heard as they broke from the muck.
Lurie heaved, and released a deep sigh, his green armor and clothing rising and falling with his breath. He raised a hand to his hood and pulled it back a bit, as the moisture in the air had made it soggy and harder to cope with. Regardless, the protection was better than nothing. As he walked towards Stonard (where he hoped to speak to a flight master about leaving the eerie swamp) he heard some commotion. Immediately summoning the spirits to his aid, Lurie transformed into a mighty ghost wolf and sprinted in the direction of the noise.
It was not long before Lurie came across a young night-elf priestess, in mortal combat with two green dragon whelps, and losing. Well aware that the corruption spreading across the known world had indeed affected even the mighty dragons, and sensing nothing to indicate proper intent within the actions of these, he leapt to the night-elf's aid in both a literative and figurative sense. In mid-jump he regained his Tauren form and drew a wicked axe, the Force of the Hippogryph, its blade shaped much like three talons. Using his downward momentum to grant the blade even more force, Lurie buried it deep into the back of the closest whelp, killing it instantly.
A mere moment later, he grunted at a great blow dealt to his side. He could immediately feel the blood flowing from the wound the other whelp's tail had inflicted. Even as he turned he could see it preparing to strike again. Lurie pulled from his bags another object, and thrust it in the face of his enemy. A bright light filled the area as he held the Beacon of Hope, a lantern imbued with powerful divine light, up to the whelp. It recoiled immediately, and he used the moment to tuck his axe away and thrust his now spare hand towards the green dragonkin, summoning the spirits within the earth to, quite literally, shock and crush his enemy at the cost of some of his precious spirit energy.
Both whelps dead, a panting, wounded Lurie lowered both of his hands, and still in battle stance, looked over at the priestess, who seemed quite taken aback. Her eyes were wide with shock, probably both at having survived and at having been saved by a Tauren. Not hesitating a moment longer, she turned and ran, attempting to summon her holy magics to heal her injuries.
"You might have at the very least attempted to heal your savior before heading off," thought the slightly perturbed Lurie as he set his Beacon away and used his own magic to heal the wound on his side. Glancing at the deceased whelps, Lurie could see nothing to be gained from them at all. "At least that is one more vision the Alliance has at the prospect of allies among the Horde... though it will probably lead no where."
Lurie sighed once more. A light rain started, as if the world were sighing with him.
Glancing around the area, Lurie saw the obvious den of the whelps. Stepping curiously towards it, he saw movement. Looking into the shallow nesting area, he witnessed a newborn whelpling, emerald in color as its parents had been. It still meandered about the remains of its egg, and didn't seem to know what to do, being unable to fly yet with its still moist and weak wings. Lurie felt a sudden wave of guilt. He did not doubt his previous notion that the whelpling's parents had been corrupted by the same dark force that plagued all of Azeroth, but the fact remained that the little one still did not have parents. Seeking within himself enough calm to think clearly, Lurie focused all his spiritual insight upon the whelpling. As he did so, it looked him right in the eye.
After a few moments, Lurie clearly saw that no such corruption had reached the whelpling, which would almost certainly now die without its parents. Carefully, Lurie reached inside the den and pulled the whelpling from it. It squawked once, but not in a protesting manner. Lurie gazed mystically at what he now held, and in that moment saw a kind of innocence he'd never before witnessed in a creature so magical and ancient in nature as a dragonkin.
"I know not what will happen if you travel with me on my journey, little dragon," Lurie said as he stood up to his full height, "...but I would honor your companionship if you so desired it."
The dragonkin looked upon Lurie in a manner much like his ancestors, in that it somehow understood beyond all logic what Lurie was saying, even having just been born. In answer, it closed its eyes and bowed its head towards its parent's killer.
Lurie cradeled the tiny emerald whelpling in one massive arm, and once more adjusting his hood, continued his trek through the swamp, toward Stonard.