Page 1 of 1

Tales of the Twice-Killed Warrior

PostPosted: December 1st, 2015, 12:53 am
by RiktheRed21
((An old post and the start of a re-telling of Parigan's history. This was my first rp toon, and the stories that follow are some of my first as a roleplayer. They are graphic, and depict scenes of violence, gore, death, and morbid imagery.))

I wasn't born to rule kingdoms or fight for what I think is right. I was born an ordinary citizen in an extraordinary world. Gilneas was once my home, but no more. My name is Parigan Blackmane.

In death I have seen the world outside the walls. I have seen things I had heard of in stories and imagined only in nightmares. I have watched the world burn, and my only instinct is to feed the flames.

For twenty years I lived as a citizen of Gilneas, an odd duck in a family of politicians and royal guards. I lived to become a builder, a craftsman, and a miner, always unordinary. Yet somehow, I was lucky enough to meet a woman who loved me, someone who cared for me. Brinnea.

The name makes me tremble for an unknown reason, was love so important? I can't remember.

I was a paranoid man, always worrying for whatever reason. So when I heard about an imminent attack from the Scourge, I wanted to be prepared. I joined the city guard so I could steal supplies for my home, to protect my wife. She had become pregnant, and the shock of a child was mixed with the paranoia of an undead attack; I had never fully accepted that I was to be a father. I never wanted my life to change -- the idea of change frightened me -- but the day came when the city was attacked. The undead swarmed the streets; my job was to guard the gates for civilians to escape, but I had to get Brinnea out. She was defenseless. I took Brinnea, a horse, supplies, and rode as fast as possible away from the city. The undead raiders scattered the group of refugees I had joined, forcing us to take refuge in the forest. On the way to a rally point for evacuation, Brinnea forced us to stop. She was going into labor.

For hours we waited for what should have been the happiest moment of our lives, until finally, she was born: our daughter, Charlotte. Brinnea rested with the child while I forced myself to ignore my fatigue. I heard a noise from the trees and went to investigate, sword in hand. I stepped softly out of the clearing, into the trees, when a geist jumped out at me from the side. I fell over with no idea if I was hurt or how bad, but I managed to regain my balance. As I sprang up, the undead charged me recklessly, skewering itself on my blade.

I forced myself up, realizing I had been slashed along my left hamstring. My leg was covered in blood, so I limped back to the clearing to patch it up. I heard panicked screaming before I saw mother and child huddled against a tree. I approached them to try calming the child, when suddenly I lost my breath and was forced to the ground. I grabbed at my throat, finding a throwing dagger stuck deep into my chest, the blood from the wound slowly trickling into my clothes. I looked up and saw the terror in Brinnea’s eyes. She struggled to stand on wobbly legs, still weak from childbirth, and dangerously low on blood. As I hacked up blood, I picked myself off the ground and held my blade at the ready. A pair of glowing blue eyes pierced the shadows in the foliage behind Brin and Charlotte. Then a pair of yellow eyes, and another. A man entered the clearing, a massive black hammer in one hand and a metal stake in the other. His skin was black as night, his head bald but for a full brown beard. His eyes were without pity or remorse, and regarded me coldly as if I were a piece of meat he had to cut up for a meal. Ghouls flanked him, left and right, a slobbering, cannibalistic honor guard in the wake of the unholy warrior of death they served.

Brinnea shakily wandered away from the man as his ghouls began to pursue her. Rage billowed in the forge of my heart. I burst forward with all my strength, ignoring the pain in my chest. My blade danced forward, piercing the flesh and bone of the ghouls’ heads. They fell to the forest floor. I turned to Brin and managed between ragged wet coughs to say, “Run…take Charlotte…and run!” She paused for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes, but she knew she had no choice. She turned away and fled. I faced the death knight once more, who had yet to raise his weapons or even move towards me. More undead emerged from the forest behind him. Nerubians of the frozen north, gargoyles, ghouls, and skeletal soldiers, all with the same hungry look in their eyes. All facing me.

It felt like hours before he stopped sending his minions at me. A few had managed to add further injuries to my body, but I was still breathing, and mad as hell. I saw an opening and decided to finish things quickly. I rushed the death knight himself, my blade moving fast as a bullet. His was faster. The clang of steel on saronite sounded like a death knell. My blade shattered to pieces; shrapnel flew through my chainmail, piercing my flesh. Then with his left hand he impaled me through the heart with his stake. My vision was fading quickly, and the realization hit me just as I began to lose consciousness that I was going to die. I fell on my back, the blade still in my heart. The night sky grew dim, but I saw a silhouette against the full moon. A gargoyle carrying a slim figure, higher and higher, until finally it let go. The last thing I saw as my heart’s blood tricked free from my chest was the love of my life and our newborn child fall from the sky. That, and the death knight’s emotionless face as he watched me die at his feet.

Re: Tales of the Twice-Killed Warrior

PostPosted: December 1st, 2015, 1:18 am
by RiktheRed21
Darkness.

That is all that awaited me in this strange new world. I was surrounded by an eternal emptiness, forever expansive. No emotion or physicality followed me here. All that was left was the void. I drifted for what seemed an eternity, until finally I sensed a new presence.

Light, eternal and unending, just as expansive as the darkness which receded around it. It appealed to every sensation I had. I not only saw the light, I felt its warmth, heard joyous noise from its depths, smelled and tasted is wondrous promises of happiness. I felt only the joy which it brought me, experienced only the ecstasy of an existence without laws or limits. There was only one force at work here, the power of the Light. As I gazed within the depths of the light, I saw a silhouette that gleamed brighter than a thousand suns, clear as day even in the ultimate illumination behind it. I approached, and saw a woman with free-flowing, beautiful scarlet hair, as if it were a wildfire upon a golden plain.
Brinnea.

She smiled, radiating bliss. I neared her, reached out to be one with her, when a new presence entered the void. A new darkness, a much more sinister being that sought to grab hold of my soul and rip it from Brinnea’s grasp. Emotion ran through me, Mortality entered my being once more. Brinnea’s spirit vanished within the dark flames that rose from the Nether. I felt as if my soul was ripped apart and put together again by a six foot stitching needle. The pain was unbearable, and seemed to last an eternity. Then in an instant, I woke to life once more.

“Arise, and become Forsaken,” an unknown voice called out.

My eyelids peeled back slowly and light entered my vision once more. My first view was of the night sky, rendered insignificant next to the void I had been taken from. The expanse of darkness now seemed so limited, and the multitude of light from the numerous stars lacked the same feeling of joy the true Light had provided. I looked forward toward the voice’s origin. I saw a being bathed in light with the body of a beautiful woman. She had wings of a great Gryphon’s, and stared at me from behind a horned helm.

My mind slowly began to wake, and I asked the first question I thought of, “Where am I?” I tried to get up, but could hardly move my body.

“This is Deathknell, you and the other bodies were brought here from Gilneas,” the woman responded.

My mind suddenly felt shock at what she had said, and again I asked the first question that came to my lips, “Bodies, as in, corpses?” My jaw felt unnervingly stiff as I tried to speak.

“Yes, the deaths were many in Gilneas when the Worgen attacked, but Lady Sylvanas used the attack to our advantage. She sent us Val’kyr to collect what dead we could after the attack.”

Val’kyr, Worgen, my mind slowly processed this new information. When I finally had my memory sorted, I realized that I had died, but was raised by the Forsaken to serve in undeath. Panic struck, all I could rap my mind around was that I should be dead. Looking down upon my hands, I did not recognize the sight I beheld. They were chewed to the bone by what I assumed were wolf fangs. The flesh had turned a sickly shade of pink. I felt my face, only to feel cold metal where my lower jaw should have been. The shock froze me. Only one thought presented itself in my mind.

“Brinnea, where is she?”

The Val’kyr answered, “I do not know this Brinnea. If she was brought here, she is likely gone. You were among the last brought from the graveyards. You should speak to Undertaker Mordo over there. He will give you something to do while you figure out how to spend your brand new life.”

She drifted towards a pile of rotted corpses to my right, leaving me in my patch of grass in the middle of the old cemetery. Looking around, I saw zombies missing body parts all over the place. Gazing toward the mausoleum, I saw a couple of undead talking to each other. Only at this point did I realize the words we spoke weren’t normal. They didn’t sound the way I had remembered them, as if they were in a foreign, gutteral language.

I lifted my body off the ground and wobbled onto my bare, bony feet. I took a step, and then another. After I gained my footing, I approached the undertaker.

“Another one. You are…?” the undead man asked.

“Parigan,” I mumbled back to him.

“Yes, you are now a Forsaken, and must do what is necessary to serve the Banshee Queen, Lady Sylvanas. Do you accept your new role?”

I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. The situation was too much for me to handle.

“While you regain your tongue, head down into the mausoleum and grab some stitching supplies. Not all of these recruits have as many parts left as you.” The Undertaker pointed me to the building behind him. I descended the stairway into the small room below, and found the supplies. I brought them back up to Mordo.

“Thank you, now what do you say to my previous…”

“I only want to find Brinnea, my love,” I cut him off midsentence; “I don’t care for your Forsaken, your queen, or you. I only want her, how can I find Brinnea?”

“Calm down,” Mordo replied coolly, “Can you tell me what she looks like?”

“Young woman with red hair and pale skin. Possibly…had a child with her.”

“No children are ever brought here, and I could tell you of several who look like this Brinnea of yours. I never forget a face.”

We worked out a deal. I would serve the Forsaken, and the Forsaken would locate Brinnea for me. My every thought was focused on saving her from this fate. I set out from Deathknell to do work for the Forsaken. I would face many perils and near death experiences, but my fear had died along with my emotions. Only one emotion remained: rage, unfocused and dangerous.

Re: Tales of the Twice-Killed Warrior

PostPosted: December 1st, 2015, 2:17 am
by RiktheRed21
Gilneas.

The land that had once been my home was now ravaged by the hellfire of war. The land was plagued, the forests burned, and I hungered for the flesh of my enemies. I pulled my hammer out of the skull of a Worgen I had killed and began to put away my weapon when I heard a howl behind me. As I turned to see the origin of the noise, I heard another howl to my right. More and more howls surrounded my position until I realized it was too late to escape. No reinforcements could help me now; the Worgen had circled around me.

The beasts waited at a distance of about ten yards, snarling and drooling at the sight of me. I felt no fear as I stared at what I was convinced was my second death. I only felt curious. Curious at how one Worgen, the leader it seemed, looked so familiar. He approached slowly and I readied my hammer. Just as the hammer rose to waist-length, the beast leaped onto me, pinning me to the ground. The hammer flew out of my hand and the Worgen put a spear's tip to my throat.

We stared into each other's eyes for a moment, and then another. He seemed as interested in me as I was in him. His deep, red eyes failed to hide an emotion: sorrow. The Worgen began to change shape into a human, an eerily familiar human. He was roughly my height, about six feet tall, and was built like a tank. His chainmail armor was fancy and well decorated with war medals. He looked handsome with long, black hair, braided for war. His eyes had become a deep brown, gazing compassionately down at me. He spoke one word in the Common Tongue, and though my muddied memory could only recall pieces of the language, this word I recognized.

"Brother."

Joy? Sadness? Anger? Relief? No. I felt none of these emotions as I gazed upon my brother's face. I supposed I had never liked my brother much, but even now I don't truly remember. He said more Common words that I couldn't understand. He eased back his weapon. I capitalized and lashed with my sharpened fingers. His blade pressed into my neck, releasing a slight trickle of body fluid and a few moist coughs from me.

"Release me or kill me," I told him.

He obviously didn't understand my words, but he did respond with horror at the fact that I spoke them at all. He seemed to finally come to grips with the fact that I was undead. Emerging in my field of view was a Worgen, who whispered in my brother's ear. After a brief exchange, the Worgen walked out of sight and my brother looked back at me. He slowly regained his furry features and canine body. He fell back as well, letting his spear away from my throat. I got up and waited for him to act first.

"Go," He said. I could understand as much. I replied with a single word as well:

"Brinnea."

He waved off the other Worgen and began to dig through his bag. He threw a trinket at me, which I caught.

"Sorry," He said to me, then turned and ran off into the shadows.

I racked my brain until I remembered his name, Ersolon. I tried to think of what he had been like but it was too difficult for my mind to decipher. I instead focused on the trinket in my hand. It was a necklace, a dark amethyst with silver lining and a gold chain. Etched in the gem was a symbol I recognized as a black wolf howling at a silvery full moon. I began to feel faint all of a sudden, and a strange fog rolled into my vision. I lost all feeling in my body and passed out.

The dream had no background, but two figures seemed to be conversing in Common. I looked upon them and recognized both of them Ersolon, as a human, and Brinnea. She looked as beautiful as I remembered, but something about her caught my attention. She wore a necklace, the same necklace that I was holding in my hand. The scene ended and the dark fog lifted. I awoke on the ground and rose. I began to walk back to the Forsaken Front wondering what I had seen meant.

Re: Tales of the Twice-Killed Warrior

PostPosted: December 3rd, 2015, 12:46 am
by RiktheRed21
It was a dark and stormy night...

Of course, the Eye of Netherstorm was always stormy, but this one was particularly nasty. I stood still and adamant beside the Horde soldiers to my right. We were surrounded by a purple luminescent shield that protected us from the violent lightning storm until it passed. In a minute, the shield would lift and we would charge for the outposts around the Eye. Either we capture this point, or we would never return to Azeroth. The simplicity of the situation reassured me. All I would need to do was fight, survival wasn't key. Fear never once entered my mind, I can't remember what fear feels like now.

"Undead, report in!"

The grouchy orc captain Thoron shouted in my direction, and I answered with an unenthusiastic "Yes, sir."

"Listen up! We are the Horde, the Alliance can't defeat us, not here or ever. LOK'TAR O GAR!"

The others responded loudly with the Horde's beloved motto. I stood silent, anticipating. The shield dropped, and I sprinted for the nearest tower. I summoned my skeletal warhorse, Brand, and charged ahead for the tower. A few other Horde soldiers followed me and helped me place flags and defensive barricades at the tower. A lookout signaled that the Alliance had met the other soldiers at the central point. I glanced over the scene and saw many Horde warriors slain and thrown off the cliffs. The magi and firing squad at the back were forced to move back. I realized now that the other soldiers hadn't been prepared for this mission. I hadn't thought that I might have been placed in a sacrificial unit.

"Alliance scouting party, from the north!" the Horde scout called out.

I moved down the hill and prepared to jump down at the detachment. A volley of Troll arrows flew past my head, hitting the targets below. I sprang down, weapons first, into the huddle. The Alliance hadn't put up their guard yet, and I managed to kill a Draenei with my blade. I twisted around, slamming a Worgen with my shield and slashing at a nearby Human with my sword. The next few moments were a rush as arrows flew around, spells barely missed me many times, and another warrior swung his blade to meet my shield. For a few moments, the only battle I sensed was ours, our swords clashed, our shields crashed, and finally our flesh was rent and torn until the man could take no more and bled to death.

A healing spell reinvigorated my body and snapped my mind back into focus. The Horde scout had been killed by fire, but the remaining Alliance retreated back to the main line. All I had left with me was a Tauren shaman and an Orc hunter who loaded his gun and took the Troll's place as scout. He began to call out, but was interrupted by a gunshot that blew out his chest. He fell over and quickly died. The Tauren prepared his hammer and I charged the new Alliance attackers. My shield protected my body and my sword dealt death to those who came too close. I took long range spells and gunshots in my legs, forcing me to slow down. Many bones were broken and the pain began to take effect. I charged again, this time with the shaman next to me. We fought off many of the soldiers, but more replaced them. More spells were cast at us. The shaman threw up an earthen shield; I prepared to defend the sides from more attacks when a heavy force crashed down on me. The earthen shield had collapsed, and crushed me with debris. A warlock's demon had broken through it and began swinging at the shaman's head. He tried to kill it with a fire shot but was disrupted by a warrior's shout. The Tauren bravely fought until he was overwhelmed and killed. I climbed out of the debris and readied my weapons. The Alliance soldiers struck, I defended over and over, blocking axe, sword, spell, even gunshot. I fell down the cliffside to clear some distance from the magi and hunters and prepared to fight again. A shadow blotted out the little light that patched through the storm. I looked up, and saw a nether drake descend from the sky. It vanished, dropping off a well-armed Worgen, which I recognized as my brother, Ersolon.

"Small world, isn't it Parigan?" he said, to my surprise, in the Forsaken language, "But I am glad to see you again, how's death treating you?"

"Horribly, are you happy now? Kill me or die trying, but don't expect to have some dramatic, poetic last moment with your dear, departed brother," I responded hastily. I charged him and swung at his throat. He lazily parried my strike with the shaft of his spear.

"Oh, come now Pari, is that the best you can do?"

I swung again, and again. I raised my shield at his body, but he back-stepped and kicked me down. I sprang up, lunging with my blade, but he caught it with his spear and with a twist, disarmed me.

"You really have grown, little Parigan. Too bad I was always better than you," at the end of his line, he lunged at my leg, I blocked, but it was a feint. He swung around and clipped my helm. It flew off and I fell to the ground again. He leapt into the air and stabbed down at me. I rolled just as his spear met the ground. As I jumped to my feet, I grabbed my blade and swung around to intercept his attack. Again, he feinted at the last second and swept my leg, causing me to lose my balance. He slashed his claws across my face, managing to leave one bloody scar by my left eye. I backed up. He pursued. I tried to take another step, but my foot met only air. Behind me was an infinite fall into the Twisting Nether. I regained my balance and decided to make my final stand then and there. Ersolon barked out a laugh and began to close in slowly.

"Goodbye, Parigan. I will be sure to tell Father you died bravely."

He lunged, but his spear was intercepted mid-strike by the Horde captain. The orc took advantage of Ersolon’s surprise and pummeled the worgen in the chest with his armored shoulder. My brother took a step back.

"Look around you, pup! See any blue flags flying?" the captain called to Mayes. He looked around, seeing that his army had been forced to retreat.
"This isn't over, orc. I'll be sure to take your head when next we meet!"

"You talk too much,” I responded to Mayes's threat, “Fight on if you’re so confident!" He gave me a threatening gaze, but backed off, summoning his drake with a loud howl. He flew off into the storm, out of sight.

"Good work holding him off, undead,” Thoron said, turning to face me, “That worgen is an Alliance general from Gilneas, very powerful." Grol said to me. "I'll be sure to report his appearance here to the Warchief."

After the Horde reassembled at assigned posts, I mended my wounds, and reflected on my failures. Memories trickled into my mind at the thought of my brother. He had been a tall, handsome young man with the thick black hair of our family. Woman had loved him. I recalled him often forcing me to go out with him to find a girl of my own. He had been the one to crack my shell of teenage isolation, and possibly the one responsible for bringing Brinnea and me together. Conflicting emotions clouded my mind, but I shoved them away. We were enemies now, plain and simple. If we met again, I would not let him leave alive.