10-21-2006, 08:29 PM
Hello everyone! I've returned to the game, temporarily at least, and I'm glad to be back! Unfortunately, I'm not going to be playing Vor'tok until I have the story revolving around his absence completed; however, I will be playing my other characters (Grol'kosh and Bran'acor) in the mean time, so look out for them! The first two chapters, in this thread, take place before Vor'tok's departure, then the rest of the story takes place while he's gone. The story ends just before I bring Vor back in to the game. As stated, here are the first two chapters. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1 -- Sword in the Dark
The sound of a marching army: the heavy footsteps hammering in unison at a furious pace, the heavy breathing of armor-clad warriors who have been marching relentlessly, the clanking of steel, the sharp barks of commanders ordering their troops. The sound was awe-inspiring. But that's all there was. Sound. Vor'tok looked around him, but there was just blackness. No lit torches, no glinting of the moon on his brethrens armor, no stars in the sky. He let his gaze fall back to his feet, only there were no feet, nor any other visible part of his body, just the darkness and the sound.
"Damn fog," Vor thought to himself, though the darkness was the least of his worries. He was not mounted, he realized, nor did he know why or even where his trusted wolf was being kept, and this bothered him. What bothered him more was he could not remember anything else either. How long had he been marching? Hours? Days maybe? And where was he marching to? Was there a battle? A raid? But what bothered the orc most, was the fact that he did not know with whom he was marching. He could tell he was marching with fellow orcs by the sound, but that was the only clue given him. There was no sign of his friend and former mentor, Kretol, or of his close comrades, Chiokai, Makul, and Keerth, or of any of the Ironsong Tribe, of whom he had come to regard as his family.
Suddenly one of the commanding officers ahead of him boomed a thundering war-cry. Vor'tok knew this as the signal that the enemy was in sight, and marching head on to them, as did all the rest of the warriors, because the whole army had picked up the pace to a full run in sync with Vor. A fierce grin broke across his face; the orcs had the advantage for he felt the terrain beneath him decline sharply. At the sound of the two armies colliding just ahead of Vor'tok, closer than he had expected considering he could still see nothing, he unstrapped his large mace and braced his shoulders as his feet carried him full speed to what would be a neck-breaking collisiong with those in front of him if he was not careful in this darkness. The collision came. He felt the mob lurch forward as his line crashed into their backs. He was stunned for a moment too long; the line behind his came crashing down on him. This knocked the breath out of him, but it put his body and mind into motion. Acting quickly now, he dropped his shoulders and began pushing his way thorugh the mob before the next wave of orcs came hurling down on him in the dark.
Vor'tok had always been shorter than most of his brethren, although he was every bit as broad and as stout, thus making shoving his way through the lines much easier for him than most. The sound was deafening in the pack, and just grew louder the closer he was to the frontline. Yet that's all there was, still only sound. Someone's axe nicked him in the dark, disappointing him somewhat as he hated to bleed before he was even in the fray. Finally he broke through the lines, he felt open space before him but there was still only darkness. Instinctively, he dropped to one knee to avoid being stuck until he could see something... anything, before-
It was too late; a sharp, piercing pain rippled through his body as the sword cracked through his chest, continuing through him until it ripped out his back. He strained to see who had killed him, or even the blade in his body, but there was nothing. Out of rage for his attacker, rage for his death, and rage for all this damned darkness, Vor'tok roared for all he was worth and struggled to stand, struggled to raise his hammer so he could at least take his killer out with him. Then a new, wrenching pain raced through him, ending his roar in a gasp and causing him to fall once more, to both knees this time. The bastard had run him through with what Vor figured was a claymore judging by the width and length of the blade in him, not that it really mattered now but these are just the things a warrior thinks about, and had twisted it once it was through him.
Knowing he was now too weak to wield his mace, Vor let it drop and let his hands fall to his sides. He hung his head. He would appear to have given in, but he would be damned if he was going to quit fighting while there was still life in him. The one who stabbed him would have to pull his blade out sometime, and when he did, Vor'tok intended to lunge forward, grasp his hands around the fool's throat, and squeeze until they both were dead....the pull came. Despite the searing pain, Vor kicked off into the air. He was completely airborne now with hands outstretched, seeking their target. Then came the light, then the mouthful of dirt....
Rolling over to his back, Vor'tok coughed out the dirt and rubbed his eyes. After blinking a few times to adjust to this new light, he looked around and realized where he was. Durotar. He had been dreaming. He had been more than dreaming, he had been sleep-walking as well. Sitting up, he saw that he was in the middle of the road with the front gates of Orgrimmar a good five miles or more north of him. Looking to the sky, he figured it was early still; perhaps no one had seen him. He climbed to his feet and began walking back to the city, rubbing his aching chest.
Chapter 1 -- Sword in the Dark
The sound of a marching army: the heavy footsteps hammering in unison at a furious pace, the heavy breathing of armor-clad warriors who have been marching relentlessly, the clanking of steel, the sharp barks of commanders ordering their troops. The sound was awe-inspiring. But that's all there was. Sound. Vor'tok looked around him, but there was just blackness. No lit torches, no glinting of the moon on his brethrens armor, no stars in the sky. He let his gaze fall back to his feet, only there were no feet, nor any other visible part of his body, just the darkness and the sound.
"Damn fog," Vor thought to himself, though the darkness was the least of his worries. He was not mounted, he realized, nor did he know why or even where his trusted wolf was being kept, and this bothered him. What bothered him more was he could not remember anything else either. How long had he been marching? Hours? Days maybe? And where was he marching to? Was there a battle? A raid? But what bothered the orc most, was the fact that he did not know with whom he was marching. He could tell he was marching with fellow orcs by the sound, but that was the only clue given him. There was no sign of his friend and former mentor, Kretol, or of his close comrades, Chiokai, Makul, and Keerth, or of any of the Ironsong Tribe, of whom he had come to regard as his family.
Suddenly one of the commanding officers ahead of him boomed a thundering war-cry. Vor'tok knew this as the signal that the enemy was in sight, and marching head on to them, as did all the rest of the warriors, because the whole army had picked up the pace to a full run in sync with Vor. A fierce grin broke across his face; the orcs had the advantage for he felt the terrain beneath him decline sharply. At the sound of the two armies colliding just ahead of Vor'tok, closer than he had expected considering he could still see nothing, he unstrapped his large mace and braced his shoulders as his feet carried him full speed to what would be a neck-breaking collisiong with those in front of him if he was not careful in this darkness. The collision came. He felt the mob lurch forward as his line crashed into their backs. He was stunned for a moment too long; the line behind his came crashing down on him. This knocked the breath out of him, but it put his body and mind into motion. Acting quickly now, he dropped his shoulders and began pushing his way thorugh the mob before the next wave of orcs came hurling down on him in the dark.
Vor'tok had always been shorter than most of his brethren, although he was every bit as broad and as stout, thus making shoving his way through the lines much easier for him than most. The sound was deafening in the pack, and just grew louder the closer he was to the frontline. Yet that's all there was, still only sound. Someone's axe nicked him in the dark, disappointing him somewhat as he hated to bleed before he was even in the fray. Finally he broke through the lines, he felt open space before him but there was still only darkness. Instinctively, he dropped to one knee to avoid being stuck until he could see something... anything, before-
It was too late; a sharp, piercing pain rippled through his body as the sword cracked through his chest, continuing through him until it ripped out his back. He strained to see who had killed him, or even the blade in his body, but there was nothing. Out of rage for his attacker, rage for his death, and rage for all this damned darkness, Vor'tok roared for all he was worth and struggled to stand, struggled to raise his hammer so he could at least take his killer out with him. Then a new, wrenching pain raced through him, ending his roar in a gasp and causing him to fall once more, to both knees this time. The bastard had run him through with what Vor figured was a claymore judging by the width and length of the blade in him, not that it really mattered now but these are just the things a warrior thinks about, and had twisted it once it was through him.
Knowing he was now too weak to wield his mace, Vor let it drop and let his hands fall to his sides. He hung his head. He would appear to have given in, but he would be damned if he was going to quit fighting while there was still life in him. The one who stabbed him would have to pull his blade out sometime, and when he did, Vor'tok intended to lunge forward, grasp his hands around the fool's throat, and squeeze until they both were dead....the pull came. Despite the searing pain, Vor kicked off into the air. He was completely airborne now with hands outstretched, seeking their target. Then came the light, then the mouthful of dirt....
Rolling over to his back, Vor'tok coughed out the dirt and rubbed his eyes. After blinking a few times to adjust to this new light, he looked around and realized where he was. Durotar. He had been dreaming. He had been more than dreaming, he had been sleep-walking as well. Sitting up, he saw that he was in the middle of the road with the front gates of Orgrimmar a good five miles or more north of him. Looking to the sky, he figured it was early still; perhaps no one had seen him. He climbed to his feet and began walking back to the city, rubbing his aching chest.