Post by Kirfkin on Nov 4, 2008 15:55:31 GMT -5
This is a story from the past, when Kirfkin had entered the plaguelands for the first time. He ended up getting a little ill, if you knew about that at all...
Please feel free to let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is appreciated, but destructive insults are not. There is a difference!
Prologue
He did not remember whom exactly it was that had told him to travel to the Bulwark at the edge of the forest leading into the place known as the ‘Plaguelands.’ It was a Tauren who had told him to travel to the Undercity, and someone there had told him to travel to the small, extremely important post. So, he had prepared for the short journey and headed off with his young Kodo beast.
“Our Forsaken allies could use one such as yourself,” they had said. Kirfkin struggled to figure out what exactly this meant -- he was weak as far as he was concerned. A small bull, who could not always communicate with the elements, the spirits, properly. And yet… some seemed to insist otherwise.
He arrived at about mid-day, very in thought. The beast carrying him stopped and shifted uncomfortably on its lumbering feet. It let out a quiet, uncomfortable roar. Then Kirfkin felt it too: a sickly smell permeated from the lands just beyond the Bulwark, and a haze reached to the area surrounding him. He felt something in his body, his mind -- as if the lands were crying for help. The bull wrinkled his nose slightly, and slowly dismounted. He tied the beast to a post, offering a small nod to one of the Forsaken present at the Bulwark. The undead fellow seemed to understand.
Kirfkin collected his few belongings and the rest of his combat gear from the saddle bags. Another Forsaken, who appeared to be an Apothecary of some sort, approached Kirfkin, an armored warrior following beside him.
“Ah, yes… You must be one of the, /ahem/, ones we were to expect, hmm?” The robed man spoke this in his raspy, hollow and sickly sounded voice. Kirfkin winced slightly. The Forsaken murmured something to the warrior next to him, before turning his attention back to the bull. “We… understand that there are cauldrons spread throughout the farmlands surrounding Andorhal. We must obtain a sample to, err, conduct research. Yes… Other than that, ah, simple task… You may do what you please in those… Scourge lands.” The undead man chuckled, if that’s what you could call the sickly sound that vibrated through his throat and lungs.
Kirfkin barely heard the man, but he nodded slowly having understood the basic task at hand. Something was bothering him. It still felt as though something without a voice was screaming and crying out in pain… for help. He closed his eyes slowly, and opened his mouth to speak. “I gah…oh nah…ow.” The two before him tossed the bull an odd look.
Before shambling off, one of them tossed Kirfkin an empty vial. Kirfkin caught it and fumbled with it for a moment. “Use that,” the robed man rasped. “Collect a sample. Bring it to me.”
Kirfkin nodded again. He retrieved his helmet from his pile of gear and placed it onto his head. He looked rather menacing in it, unbeknownst to him. You could only see his eyes, and two sets of horns. For the protection it offered, it limited his sight and hearing. The young bull strapped his shield to his back, and tied his hammer around his belt. He turned to the gates at the edge of the Bulwark and swallowed. The Kodo behind him groaned.
The bull turned at this sound, and walked over to it, his battle chain jingling and ringing with every step. It was a bit too large; it was hard to find gear made perfectly for a bull that was smaller. Kirfkin patted the beast slowly along its head and neck. He attempted to speak calmly, but his voice wavered slightly. In a soft voice, he spoke the following words in Taurahe: “I go, you stay. I will be back…”
The shaman gently patted the Kodo one last time, and turned abruptly towards the pass. Even through his helmet, and with the voiceless screaming at him, he now heard the moans, the sickly howls and growls of the land beyond the gates. Kirfkin walked away from the Bulwark, towards the deadly lands, with each step of his hoof kicking up a considerable amount of dust. Each step brought him closer to danger. Each step increased the magnitude of the smells, the howls of pain and the moans of the restless. With each step, Kirfkin’s heart pounded harder, his fear grew. He did not think it fear for just himself, but perhaps fear of being unable to complete the ‘simple’ task laid out before him. The plaguemist haze, while present before, grew in severity. His nose stung, his body quivered… and he stepped beyond the Bulwark.
Chapter 1: Beyond the Bulwark
The Plaguelands were not truly lifeless, for the dead walked, and the wildlife prowled. Plague and infection made even the most calm of beasts aggressive. Even the ‘lucky’ few that were mostly healthy became aggressive. Healthy sustenance was scarce, especially for predators. Everything around the animal would seem threatening.
The sounds grew exponentially as Kirfkin progressed deeper into the Plaguelands. Only a few moments after he had entered, a low guttural growl rang through his ears. The small bull slowly turned to face the sound, one of his hands creeping towards the hammer at his side. Kirfkin’s eyes finally found the source of the noise. A large, rather feral and mangy looking wolf stood before him, its ears lowered threateningly, its teeth bared, and its rump in the air. Without further warning, the wolf leaped at the tauren.
The wolf made contact with the bull’s chest. Kirfkin took two steps back to recoil from his blow, using his tail as a balance. Within moments after the contact, there was a flash, and the wolf yelped and pushed off the bull. Its fur was smoking slightly. Once more it growled, no longer any warning to it. It seemed to want Kirfkin dead. The little tauren reached for his shield, and lowered himself to brace for further assault.
The wolf lunged at him. Kirfkin managed to navigate his shield to deflect the wolf’s attack. The animal seemed to ricochet off the shield, and the tauren muttered something in his native tongue before lifting his hoof just slightly, and then slamming it to the ground with considerable force. The wolf seemed to lose its bearings, and stood dazed for a moment. The shaman took this time to summon a bit of aid from the elements, quickly summoning power-imbued totems around him. They weren’t imbued in the sense that a mage or warlock’s artifacts may be, but rather, the shaman’s quick communication allowed the totems to strengthen and protect him.
As quickly as the wolf lost its bearings, it had regained them. It shook its head, and charged Kirfkin. It succeeded in raking a sharp clawed paw across his arm, causing a bloody surface wound. Kirfkin gasped lightly, before smacking the wolf with his hammer to push it away from him. He focused on the wolf, and his hands began to arc lightly with electricity. The power seemed to grow quickly, and soon a stream of lightning exited his hands and made its way to the wolf. With a flash and a puff of smoke, the wolf collapsed to the ground, wimpering lightly.
Kirfkin slowly approached the wolf and kneeled by its side. He bit his lower lip lightly to stop its quivering. He closed his eyes, and his hands began to radiate a faint, peaceful green. The bull opened his palms, and directed them towards the wolf. In less than a second, the peaceful energy had transferred into the wolf, but rather than healing it, its body went limp. Kirfkin had ended its pain by curing it of its affliction… the very affliction that had provided it with the strength to attack him.
The little bull stood, and took a moment to collect his bearings, shortly thereafter recalling his totems to the earth. He returned his shield to his back, and his mace to his side. His arm throbbed, and Kirfkin stared for a moment, watching a bit of blood run down his arm. He shuddered, then set his pack on the ground. It took a moment, but Kirfkin found a bit of clean cloth and tied a messy tourniquet around the wound. He grabbed his pack, and headed deeper into the plagued lands.
It hadn’t taken long for the danger to make itself present, and the shaman was certain there was more to come. Much more to come…
Chapter 2: An Omen?
The smells grew especially strong as he approached the first field. The fields seemed to serve as a base of operations for the distribution of the plague into the already mangled and weakened lands. Kirfkin kneeled by a fence, and stared into the field. There was a large cauldron, clearly scourge in design, chained to an evil looking base and then the ground itself. This must have been what the apothecary wanted a sample of. As the small bull rose to his hooves, he heard a scream in the distance. He heard it earlier, surrounded with the other screams and moans of the undead, but now it was far more prominent. It sounded like something that was still alive… or at least it was alive when it screamed.
Kirfkin changed directions, and ran toward the sound. The shaman stopped for a brief moment and clenched his eyes closed. In moments, natural energies flow around him and the tauren falls forward onto his hands. After another moment, the energies dissipate and a rather small wolf stands in place of the bull. The wolf charges towards the sound, nostrils flaring as it tried to find the sent. All the sounds in the area became magnified greatly as a result of the lupine form’s superior hearing.
Paws pounding against the ground, the wolf bounded at full speed in a dire attempt to reach the sound. If someone was suffering, Kirfkin would have to find them. He would have to help them. After several minutes, the wolf skidded to a halt… though not quickly enough. Kirfkin’s head impacts against a hard wooden wall. This was certainly where the sounds were coming from… there was a groaning… a groaning which sounded like it came from a dying tauren. The wolf whines quietly, and begins to shift into the larger form of the tauren. With cracking bones and a bit of pained grunts, Kirfkin was once more in his original form. He struggles to stand steady, after the full speed collision.
Holding a hand over his head, the little shaman stumbled into the entrance of the building. Across the room was quite the horrid sight… A mangled, still breathing tauren, with vanquished undead strewn around him. The druid’s eyes fall upon the shaman, and he beckons him closer with a weak movement of his hand. Kirfkin obeys, and kneels by his head. Never one to pleasure in someone’s pain, Kirfkin begins to dig through his bags in an attempt to find medicinal supplies until a large, shaky paw grabs his wrist tightly.
“Y-young… one…” the druid gasped out in Taurahe between shallow breaths, “do… not worry about me. Just… live. I have… little time here… I came… I came to heal the land… It is a cause so easily lost. So difficult… but it… it must be done. Young one… help us.”
Kirfkin stares down at him, a look of horror on his face. He speaks weakly and rapidly in his native tongue. “N-no! No! I w-won’t l-let you j-just… j-just die here,” the little bull exclaimed. “Y-you, ehr, c-could do s-so much more if you w-would… just let me help you. P-please… j-just let me h-help y-you…”
“Gods,” the older tauren sounded exacerbated. “Young… one. Act… as you should. I am lost… you… have a chance… You… must live… succeed… Just… get out of here! Now!”
Please feel free to let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is appreciated, but destructive insults are not. There is a difference!
Prologue
He did not remember whom exactly it was that had told him to travel to the Bulwark at the edge of the forest leading into the place known as the ‘Plaguelands.’ It was a Tauren who had told him to travel to the Undercity, and someone there had told him to travel to the small, extremely important post. So, he had prepared for the short journey and headed off with his young Kodo beast.
“Our Forsaken allies could use one such as yourself,” they had said. Kirfkin struggled to figure out what exactly this meant -- he was weak as far as he was concerned. A small bull, who could not always communicate with the elements, the spirits, properly. And yet… some seemed to insist otherwise.
He arrived at about mid-day, very in thought. The beast carrying him stopped and shifted uncomfortably on its lumbering feet. It let out a quiet, uncomfortable roar. Then Kirfkin felt it too: a sickly smell permeated from the lands just beyond the Bulwark, and a haze reached to the area surrounding him. He felt something in his body, his mind -- as if the lands were crying for help. The bull wrinkled his nose slightly, and slowly dismounted. He tied the beast to a post, offering a small nod to one of the Forsaken present at the Bulwark. The undead fellow seemed to understand.
Kirfkin collected his few belongings and the rest of his combat gear from the saddle bags. Another Forsaken, who appeared to be an Apothecary of some sort, approached Kirfkin, an armored warrior following beside him.
“Ah, yes… You must be one of the, /ahem/, ones we were to expect, hmm?” The robed man spoke this in his raspy, hollow and sickly sounded voice. Kirfkin winced slightly. The Forsaken murmured something to the warrior next to him, before turning his attention back to the bull. “We… understand that there are cauldrons spread throughout the farmlands surrounding Andorhal. We must obtain a sample to, err, conduct research. Yes… Other than that, ah, simple task… You may do what you please in those… Scourge lands.” The undead man chuckled, if that’s what you could call the sickly sound that vibrated through his throat and lungs.
Kirfkin barely heard the man, but he nodded slowly having understood the basic task at hand. Something was bothering him. It still felt as though something without a voice was screaming and crying out in pain… for help. He closed his eyes slowly, and opened his mouth to speak. “I gah…oh nah…ow.” The two before him tossed the bull an odd look.
Before shambling off, one of them tossed Kirfkin an empty vial. Kirfkin caught it and fumbled with it for a moment. “Use that,” the robed man rasped. “Collect a sample. Bring it to me.”
Kirfkin nodded again. He retrieved his helmet from his pile of gear and placed it onto his head. He looked rather menacing in it, unbeknownst to him. You could only see his eyes, and two sets of horns. For the protection it offered, it limited his sight and hearing. The young bull strapped his shield to his back, and tied his hammer around his belt. He turned to the gates at the edge of the Bulwark and swallowed. The Kodo behind him groaned.
The bull turned at this sound, and walked over to it, his battle chain jingling and ringing with every step. It was a bit too large; it was hard to find gear made perfectly for a bull that was smaller. Kirfkin patted the beast slowly along its head and neck. He attempted to speak calmly, but his voice wavered slightly. In a soft voice, he spoke the following words in Taurahe: “I go, you stay. I will be back…”
The shaman gently patted the Kodo one last time, and turned abruptly towards the pass. Even through his helmet, and with the voiceless screaming at him, he now heard the moans, the sickly howls and growls of the land beyond the gates. Kirfkin walked away from the Bulwark, towards the deadly lands, with each step of his hoof kicking up a considerable amount of dust. Each step brought him closer to danger. Each step increased the magnitude of the smells, the howls of pain and the moans of the restless. With each step, Kirfkin’s heart pounded harder, his fear grew. He did not think it fear for just himself, but perhaps fear of being unable to complete the ‘simple’ task laid out before him. The plaguemist haze, while present before, grew in severity. His nose stung, his body quivered… and he stepped beyond the Bulwark.
Chapter 1: Beyond the Bulwark
The Plaguelands were not truly lifeless, for the dead walked, and the wildlife prowled. Plague and infection made even the most calm of beasts aggressive. Even the ‘lucky’ few that were mostly healthy became aggressive. Healthy sustenance was scarce, especially for predators. Everything around the animal would seem threatening.
The sounds grew exponentially as Kirfkin progressed deeper into the Plaguelands. Only a few moments after he had entered, a low guttural growl rang through his ears. The small bull slowly turned to face the sound, one of his hands creeping towards the hammer at his side. Kirfkin’s eyes finally found the source of the noise. A large, rather feral and mangy looking wolf stood before him, its ears lowered threateningly, its teeth bared, and its rump in the air. Without further warning, the wolf leaped at the tauren.
The wolf made contact with the bull’s chest. Kirfkin took two steps back to recoil from his blow, using his tail as a balance. Within moments after the contact, there was a flash, and the wolf yelped and pushed off the bull. Its fur was smoking slightly. Once more it growled, no longer any warning to it. It seemed to want Kirfkin dead. The little tauren reached for his shield, and lowered himself to brace for further assault.
The wolf lunged at him. Kirfkin managed to navigate his shield to deflect the wolf’s attack. The animal seemed to ricochet off the shield, and the tauren muttered something in his native tongue before lifting his hoof just slightly, and then slamming it to the ground with considerable force. The wolf seemed to lose its bearings, and stood dazed for a moment. The shaman took this time to summon a bit of aid from the elements, quickly summoning power-imbued totems around him. They weren’t imbued in the sense that a mage or warlock’s artifacts may be, but rather, the shaman’s quick communication allowed the totems to strengthen and protect him.
As quickly as the wolf lost its bearings, it had regained them. It shook its head, and charged Kirfkin. It succeeded in raking a sharp clawed paw across his arm, causing a bloody surface wound. Kirfkin gasped lightly, before smacking the wolf with his hammer to push it away from him. He focused on the wolf, and his hands began to arc lightly with electricity. The power seemed to grow quickly, and soon a stream of lightning exited his hands and made its way to the wolf. With a flash and a puff of smoke, the wolf collapsed to the ground, wimpering lightly.
Kirfkin slowly approached the wolf and kneeled by its side. He bit his lower lip lightly to stop its quivering. He closed his eyes, and his hands began to radiate a faint, peaceful green. The bull opened his palms, and directed them towards the wolf. In less than a second, the peaceful energy had transferred into the wolf, but rather than healing it, its body went limp. Kirfkin had ended its pain by curing it of its affliction… the very affliction that had provided it with the strength to attack him.
The little bull stood, and took a moment to collect his bearings, shortly thereafter recalling his totems to the earth. He returned his shield to his back, and his mace to his side. His arm throbbed, and Kirfkin stared for a moment, watching a bit of blood run down his arm. He shuddered, then set his pack on the ground. It took a moment, but Kirfkin found a bit of clean cloth and tied a messy tourniquet around the wound. He grabbed his pack, and headed deeper into the plagued lands.
It hadn’t taken long for the danger to make itself present, and the shaman was certain there was more to come. Much more to come…
Chapter 2: An Omen?
The smells grew especially strong as he approached the first field. The fields seemed to serve as a base of operations for the distribution of the plague into the already mangled and weakened lands. Kirfkin kneeled by a fence, and stared into the field. There was a large cauldron, clearly scourge in design, chained to an evil looking base and then the ground itself. This must have been what the apothecary wanted a sample of. As the small bull rose to his hooves, he heard a scream in the distance. He heard it earlier, surrounded with the other screams and moans of the undead, but now it was far more prominent. It sounded like something that was still alive… or at least it was alive when it screamed.
Kirfkin changed directions, and ran toward the sound. The shaman stopped for a brief moment and clenched his eyes closed. In moments, natural energies flow around him and the tauren falls forward onto his hands. After another moment, the energies dissipate and a rather small wolf stands in place of the bull. The wolf charges towards the sound, nostrils flaring as it tried to find the sent. All the sounds in the area became magnified greatly as a result of the lupine form’s superior hearing.
Paws pounding against the ground, the wolf bounded at full speed in a dire attempt to reach the sound. If someone was suffering, Kirfkin would have to find them. He would have to help them. After several minutes, the wolf skidded to a halt… though not quickly enough. Kirfkin’s head impacts against a hard wooden wall. This was certainly where the sounds were coming from… there was a groaning… a groaning which sounded like it came from a dying tauren. The wolf whines quietly, and begins to shift into the larger form of the tauren. With cracking bones and a bit of pained grunts, Kirfkin was once more in his original form. He struggles to stand steady, after the full speed collision.
Holding a hand over his head, the little shaman stumbled into the entrance of the building. Across the room was quite the horrid sight… A mangled, still breathing tauren, with vanquished undead strewn around him. The druid’s eyes fall upon the shaman, and he beckons him closer with a weak movement of his hand. Kirfkin obeys, and kneels by his head. Never one to pleasure in someone’s pain, Kirfkin begins to dig through his bags in an attempt to find medicinal supplies until a large, shaky paw grabs his wrist tightly.
“Y-young… one…” the druid gasped out in Taurahe between shallow breaths, “do… not worry about me. Just… live. I have… little time here… I came… I came to heal the land… It is a cause so easily lost. So difficult… but it… it must be done. Young one… help us.”
Kirfkin stares down at him, a look of horror on his face. He speaks weakly and rapidly in his native tongue. “N-no! No! I w-won’t l-let you j-just… j-just die here,” the little bull exclaimed. “Y-you, ehr, c-could do s-so much more if you w-would… just let me help you. P-please… j-just let me h-help y-you…”
“Gods,” the older tauren sounded exacerbated. “Young… one. Act… as you should. I am lost… you… have a chance… You… must live… succeed… Just… get out of here! Now!”