Gorehorn's end and new beginning

[Gorehorn]

In the wooded glen, south of what is now called Faols Rest, the summer sun has relieved its blistering grip and the coolness of the forest slowly has begun to return. Many of the trees, too young to have reached far into the sky, work in the paling light to imitate the grandeur of their long burned and bone-bleached kin that lie among the fallen ruins of this old fortress. As the shadows slowly grow and the woodland animals begin to settle for the night, the stillness is broken by a lone sound. nnThe sound of digging.nnDistracted from its search for rodents, an owl drifts towards the noise to investigate. Perhaps there will be a bit of food left lie in the earth as is often the case with grave-robbers or miners. Alighting on an old broken pillar it peers down into the ruins to see a large hole, the ground nearly dust in color even as the fresh black soil is lofted out from the depths, one shovel full at a time.nnChuff-sching! Chuff-sching! Chuff-sching! The owl hops curiously watching the growing mound of earth as it is displaced from the deepening hole to the pile waiting above. Chuff-sching! Chuff-sching! Chuff-sching! CRACK-CHANK! The sudden noise coming too abruptly the owl flaps aloft in a flurry of panicked feathers. No meal is coming from this oddity and such things are not for owls to waste time on! Rising up from the bowels of the gap in the earth, lit now only by a single oil lantern, a massive pair of horns appear. Black as pitch, and held together with bolts where they once split, these horns exhume themselves from the earth attached to a massive bull head. Covered in dirt and wrinkled with age, the grey fur around the ear tips and the chin make the beast look all the more fearsome than they do old. nnWith a long growling grunt that resolves itself into a roar, the beast hurls a huge stone basing, like what would have been a mounting stone for an obelisk or an ancient altar, up from the hole. Slowly he climbs up from his dig. Resting a good deal of weight upon the now well used shovel he settles himself onto the pile of detritus that once filled the gap in the earth behind him. Staring at the basing, the immense tauren looks old for the first time. nnSquinting into the failing light, Gorehorn could see the remains of the burned and broken citadel that lie in ruins all around him and could still hear the screams of combat and murder from the night that the Black Dragonflight brought doom upon so many of his friends. He looked upwards to where the wall once stood when the vision of his long dead mate Zhanna was used to distract him from his guard duties while the assassins moved in and committed heinous slaughter. He could see still where the illusions had been played and he had been tricked into firing his bow and killing his young friend Mythael. Looking around he could nearly replay the entire battle of the night, so many years ago. nn<< Flashback** A chill fog had settled on his mind. The soft scrape of leather on stone was the first indication he had of not being alone but he showed no outward reaction other than to twitch his ear in its direction. nn“Gorehorn, my dearest, how I have missed you.”nnImpossible! Slack-jawed and stunned he spun himself to see for himself what could not be. The form of his long dead wife Zhanna, stood before him, a few yards away upon the parapet, lined in an eerie spiritual glow.nn“Gorehorn, the spirit world is so empty without you. I am empty here without you.” Her voice was as clear and filled with emotion as it ever had been in life. His heart filled with such a combination of longing and hurt that he felt the emotion would burst from his chest. nn“Zhanna,” he whispered, “I will join you when the elders determine it is my time. I have found what may be my final mission. We will be together again, this I swear” nnHer beatific smile warmed him. She stood so serenely, her eyes shining with love, her original tauren form just as he remembered so many years ago. No sense of any change since her youth could be detected, yet darkness hung there. Then he saw it. An intruder was ascending the stairs, dagger drawn, and mouth dripping malice. I dark elf assassin, adorned in black leather was moving slowly towards his beloved. Quickly he drew his bow forth and knocked a wickedly tipped black flight arrow. “Do not move, beloved” he breathed as he loosed the arrow on its murderous flight. The arrow flew true and buried fletching deep into the elf, which shocked to his core said only “Wut…” as he fell in a lump to the stone floor of the parapet. nnA satisfied smile quickly vanished from the face of Gorehorn as he looked upon his beloved’s visage and found instead a highborn elf maiden, draconic eyes flashing hatred as deep as the snarl on her face! Instantly she faded and the true image of the assassin on the floor revealed itself to him. It was Mythreal. nnGorehorn looked to the courtyard to see black shapes pouring through the now fully opened gate and more boiling up the stairs of the parapet to face him. The world swirled in a mass of emotions and came to focus in an instant. The Citadel was under attack! He had been duped and diverted from his duty. A white flash of rage raced through him even as the thoughts of the blind shaman reached him. The message had been simple, Gore’s answer primal.nnWith a roar of defiance he lowered his head even as he drew his swords and charged into the mass forming before him. He struck through the alarm gong so hard that it was uprooted from its mounting and rode a small distance on his shoulder, shielding him from the first blows of the enemy. His bloodlust was upon him, his death wish fully enflamed. Today Gorehorn would die. But not before each and every one of these murdering bastards felt his fury. **nBut he had not died. He had managed to rally Ebrel, Roxis, Faun and Hizashi into a front with the troops and driven out the assassins, bandits, and cultist zealots from the grounds of the citadel even as the Blackflight began to rain down their fiery devastation. The citadel was lost and all that could be done was to run. Shepherding the wounded and carrying the dying he had pushed his way to the Bulwark between Tirisfal Glade and the Eastern Plaguelands. There would be few troops there but at least someone to provide medical care. And to dig graves.nnGraves was the thought that had brought the old bull to this place. All through his life had he believed it was for him to endure the struggles and strengthen the weak of the world. Always had he been driven to do right by justice, if not the laws that supposedly governed those scales. Never had it ever seemed to be enough. Ever. So in his works, though lauded by so many of his friends, Gorehorn only ever saw his failures. The burden having finally become too heavy to bear, he had come to this, his last, greatest fall, and set about to putting himself to rest. So lost in his desire to leave the world was he that he had not even realized how deep his hole had become. nnThen he had found it. The base upon which the sacred obelisk of the Twilight Umbrage had rested. The same obelisk that Rockcrush, the blind shaman, had wielded in his final battle against the enemy that night. Old, blind, barely able to move unassisted, he fought with ferocity and tenacity unequaled on that night, only to live a little bit longer. He knew there was no hope. He knew that no one could possibly reach him in time to save him, yet he had fought with every power at his command. Rockcrush showed his metal and earned the respect of everyone all over again that night.nnThat very obelisk would become the key to Twilight Umbrages entry to the alliance and merger with the followers of the mysterious Lady Nyx. Gorehorn’s eyes began to itch as the tears that welled there gathered the dust and earth settled from all his digging and he felt ashamed. What arrogance to believe he should be buried in such a hallowed and honorable place as this! This place where so many courageous and noble hearts had been lost in defying the Old Gods deserved a monument to their works! A masterpiece of art for their nobility to live on in effigy! Not be sullied by the very bull that had failed his duty and allowed their destruction! For the very first time in his entire life, the old bull found himself weeping. He laid his head upon the obelisk basing and sobbed his apologies over and over, once for the name of each soul lost under his watch of that night. nnHis ears twitched at the soft scrape of light footfalls over stone nearby and wondered if perhaps some cutpurse had come to end his suffering or perhaps one of the fool guards from the Scarlet fort nearby had come to investigate his light. “This bull’s life has been lived and endured. Take it quickly and be done!” He bellowed, uneven to care enough to open his eyes or look upon his killer. nnA soft voice filled with darkness and mystery came to him. “Your life is not yet lived, and your service to me not yet fulfilled, Gorehorn” it whispered. Eyes flying open, snarling as he moved, Gorehorn launched himself to his feet “If you are not here to kill me than I will kill you! I am tired of this world and I am prepared for the next! My loves and my pride await me across the veil and my time on the Dream is OVER!”nnBut yet, as his eyes settled on his quarry his resolve instantly collapsed. “You..” he whispered. Standing barely more than an arm length away, a graceful blood elven form stood dressed in gossamer films of shifting shadows. He had seen her often enough to recognize the Dark Lady but never before had she cause to address him directly. He had always believed he would be able to withstand her gaze, should she turn it upon him, but now he found the truth and it shamed him. nn“You have sworn a spirit oath to me, tauren, on the names of your elders and your kin. Do you think that in these times I am so rife with resources that I would choose simply to allow you to dispose of what is mine? Freely given and offered so long ago?” nThe despair was nearly more than he could voice. “So long as grass grows, winter snows, and the forces of Nyx remain, I am your vessel. My blood, my spirit and my strength are for your use and no other till my spirit is lost to the veil.” He remembered all too well, but was surprised to hear himself say it once more. nn“You have proven useful to me, Gorehorn, in ways you do not understand. You have a value to me that goes beyond your ability to fight. My faithful have need of battlefield courage AND wisdom. They have fought hard and even pushed back the armies of the Lich King, but only now do we begin the march for which I have formed them. I need your wisdom, tauren, for my flock. I require your voice for my cause among the common people. I do not release you from your oath. And know you this,” she seemed so much larger in her authority that Gorehorn found himself wincing. “I will not tolerate oath breakers. If you attempt to end yourself, I will claim the souls of your ancestors, I will restore the form of your son into a vessel of my choosing and I will imprison forever the spirit of your beloved Zhanna and wear it as a bauble till the end of time!” At the end of her speech she was nearly blasting him off his feet with a sense of rolling thunder, although she had never spoken above a whisper.nn"I hear, mistress, and I obey." The Dark Lady turned away then and walked into the shadows. Gorehorn shook off his despair and looked about for the basing. This was coming back with him.nnFin?

[Asarelah]

(( Openly weeps reading this... Gorehorn, is this open RP?? I would like to contribute.... Direction if so ?? Regardless if open or not... Very moving. *wipes tear filled eyes clear* And Welcome Home !! ))

[Gorehorn]

<< My writing has always come in spits and spatter, even an explosion when inspiration hits. I banged the above story out in about 30 minutes. If folks would like to expand on it, by all means feel free. Anything that inspires creativity is a good thing. Perhaps this might be a good place for Lady Nyx to begin placing more of her portends of the upcoming Cataclysm. Her associations with Onyxia have long been known, perhaps Deathwing is her oldest adversary? Is this the time for the legions of her followers to finally know her true cause?>>

[Asarelah]

Is this the time for the legions of her followers to finally know her true cause?

nnQuite possibly. Warburn has been working on this for months now..... Timely !!nn```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````nAsarelah’s hand went to her throat, her body bent nearly double as a disturbance emanating from her hearth stone suddenly washed over her. The wrenching doubled her over where she sat, pulling at her heart, and commanding her complete attention. Something was amiss with one of the Tribe. And clearly it was serious.nnAttunement to the Tribe was virtually complete in the Oracle - her heart, mind, body and spirit a vessel dedicated to the Lady’s bidding and impossibly bound to Nyx. Anything that touched the Tribe touched her. And someone was being touched right now; decidedly so.nnOne hand still holding her throat, stifling a choking gasp for air, she place her other hand on her desk - careless of the ink wet petition she had been working on - to steady herself.nnWhat ... Who ... she gasped out in to the stone, then focused with a deadly resolve on tracing the path to the disturbance. But the distance to the source was impossible... not even on this world...nnShe slammed her other hand down on her desk next to the first, grit her teeth and tried again. Determined concentration beaded sweat on her brow, as she sent her mind vision reeling out through the stone to find the cause. There it is... there... Gorehorn?? Gorehorn!! rolled from her lips in sharp exclamation as the flavored scent of her most beloved and respected Elder filled her senses.nnShe wasted no time calling out over the immense span of distance. Gorehorn, what is amiss?? I can feel you!! Where are you?? Are you all right?? Come Home!!

[Gorehorn]

Courtesans, clergy and magistrates define duty as ‘actions or responsibilities expected or required to do by moral or legal obligation’.nnSoldiers and royalty define it as an obligation to king and country.nnMen have a simpler definition. Duty is what you must do to maintain honor, even when it is against your own benefit or wishes. Duty is when you do what you must, rather than what you want. nnDuty weighed far heavier on Gorehorns shoulder than the basing of the ancient obelisk he had recovered from the ruins of the citadel. He dedicated barely attention at all to the path he was following; he knew too well the trail to his destination, though passersby peered at him with variances of curiosity or disdain. And why wouldn’t they? A dirty old tauren packing an odd looking stone down the roadway into Brill, though unusual, was certainly not the kind of thing to garner the interest of young adventurers or tradesmen. nnInnkeeper Renee glared at him as he entered the inn of Brill all covered with fresh earth and called “We don’t allow Forsaken to bring in their tombstones, what makes you think your gonna be special? Gorehorn paid her minimal notice. Her gaze was impressive, considering her eyes had rotted away long ago, but he knew her to be essentially harmless. There did seem to be an unexpected hint of worry in her voice that niggled at the back of his mind, but he was too immersed in wrestling with ‘duty’ to pay it much attention. Likely it was a result of the Orc DeathKnight lounging at the tables that worried her. Not his concern.nn“Your rent is only paid through today, filthy old bull, I need more gold or you are out of here” she called after him as he ascended the stairs. Truth to be told he had never expected to return. This was certainly to be his last day in Brill for some time anyway but he would still tip her well for holding his room. Innkeepers understood duty as well, after all. An explosion of activity greeted the tired tauren as he pushed open his door. A night elf dressed in assassin garb was on the verge of dropping a bulging blanket full of barely concealed equipment out of the window. Gorehorns equipment. With a deftness that had no doubt been well practiced, the rogue dropped back, flashed out to wicked blades and whispered in tortured orcish language “I thought you were dead, Old Warrior”. nn“Not yet!” Gorehorn roared and prepared for the assault of the rogue. Unarmored and encumbered with a large stone, there was almost nothing he could do to this assassin. Certainly that was what he wanted the rogue to believe. Pity for him that he was so confident in his blades that he underestimated the experience of the tauren. In a puff of oily smoke the rogue disappeared, reappearing directly behind the old tauren, blades already moving to bury themselves into his organs. “Too easy” he muttered.nnToo easy indeed, Gorehorn had not moved at all. And so it was that the elf was surprised when his blades were stopped short. “wut..” he gurgled, as a tremendous weight crushed down upon his head and shoulders. Gorehorn had dropped the basing, timing it to land just before the striking blades of the rogue. The huge stone was far too heavy to be redirected by the the elven armor and his focus had been too much on attack to hope to avoid a falling stone. As quickly as that, he lay dead, head crushed beneath the weight of the basing. “I am not dead quite yet,” he muttered again “but you certainly are”. Renee would certainly not be happy with this mess. Blood continued to leak out from beneath the stone and already he could hear the footsteps of the innkeeper racing up the stairwell, but Gorehorns attention was elsewhere. The blood on the floor ran a red black and was flowing freely from the corpse of the thief, but the impact had also splattered a bit upon the basing. Splattered and traced into tiny etched runes on the basing. Blood runes. nnRenee began immediately demanding to know who would be paying for all the clean up and what kind of tauren would be consorting with night elves and continued raging like a black annis even as Gorehorn recovered and donned his equipment and packed up his belongings. Her railing only reduced mildly when he dropped 40 heavy gold coins into her apron pocket but the heat of her arguments certainly had reduced. nn“Where are you going?” She screeched, still flustered with the mess.nn“Silvermoon City and the Eversong Wood”, he heard himself say, hefting the basing to his now armored shoulder. “I must rejoin with the the followers of Nyx.” The communication stone given to him by the Oracles of Nyx hissed for attention. After considering it for a moment, he tucked it away into his pack. I must focus on my duty, He thought to himself. I must not be distracted. Duty must be done in person.nn<< an uneditied version I am afraid. I was pushed for time doing this on my lunch break>>