TirrenRPG
01-27-2006, 12:49 PM
He stood before the entrance to the untamed land, the last true bastion of nature untouched by the hand of modernization and industry. The unforgiving sands of the Tanaris desert gave way to lush, verdant foliage for as far as the eye could see. In his hand pack he carried a most urgent message detailing critical instructions given by the central military council of the alliance to be delivered to an agent stationed within Cenarius Hold, Silthus. The missive was a matter of life and death detailing a possible way to stem the advance of the Ahn'Qiraj and save lives in the process. A mission was already underway, and due to treachery within, was doomed to a brutal and unneeded death of the Horde and Alliance volunteers, working together for the first time since the Burning Legions swept the world. Sweating in the glare of the late-morning sun, Tirren climbed aboard his great Nightsaber and nudged it down the trail into the Ungoro Crater. It was rumored that in this foreign land that the beasts grew larger than normal, but in his mind that could not be helped; the missive had to be delivered in time or it was possible the war that was to begin in Silthus would be over before it even truly started.
In mere moments, the dry, life-draining heat of the desert turned into a heavy, oppressive damp heat of the untamed jungle. Strange and exotic birds flew gracefully from one great tree to the next, sounding calls not heard in other lands in several millennia. Reaching the bottom of the trail, he dismissed his mount and began his trek on foot figuring it might be safer to stealth through the shadows unseen versus bringing attention from creatures unknown. After crossing a small river, Tirren got his first taste of the true nature of the untouched paradise. A clan of Raptors had gathered protecting their un-hatched eggs from unseen predators. For lack of better words, they were huge, at least twice if not three times the size of their distant cousins in Arathi; larger for sure, but not dangerously so, but definitely surprising, the rumors in part were true. Rather than engage a hostile force, even one so primitive, the mission must succeed, he went wide around.
After sometime of careful tracking, he came upon a small clearing by a lake. At the edge of the lake sat a rotting abomination of the undead. With gaping holes and tattered armor, the undead warrior methodically tore chunks of flesh from a young creature in its death throes. It appeared the creature had not given up without a fight, but had been incapacitated by the brute force of the living dead in its course for a meal. Knowing the importance of the mission, Tirren decided to momentarily put it on hold while he was in his own element. No living creature should ever have to suffer so, especially from the likes of the aberration of nature. With a thought his arms and legs shortened and the muscles grew stronger yet sleek. His fingers became claws, and his hands deadly paws. Black silky fur sprouted and quickly covered his body as his face elongated and tufted ears sprouted where his long Night-Elf ears had once been. Swishing his feline tail, Tirren prowled carefully towards his intended target with lethal intent. Moments later, deadly sharp claws ripped through the back of his unexpected victim dealing massive damage and temporarily leaving his opponent in confusion. A few moments later, the warrior attacked back. A great axe arced menacingly towards Tirren’s head with similar lethal intent. With the agility born of his form, and knowledge of countless opponents slain, Tirren deftly danced to the side as the Axe missed entirely jarring the warrior through the bone as the impact shattered the haft on the ground. Yanking a great sword from beside him, the warrior returned to the fight.
The battle had gone on too long, the warrior, his own prowess beginning to show, was beginning to anticipate the druids attacks and counter them with powerful strokes that just barely missed, yet grew closer with each attempted. Fearing the battle may turn for the worse, Tirren decided to get a little distance from the deadly swing of the warriors sword. A moment later, he realized his possibly deadly mistake. Warriors, were lethal in their brazen charges. The warrior was preparing to do just that, and to intercept what he believed to be a fleeing opponent. A moment later, with a thought, Tirren returned to his standing form and with a spell of nature the warriors charge was interrupted by the living growth of roots, laden with thorns, sprouting from the ground, entangling themselves in the legs and feet of the brute, bringing him to an effective halt. The warrior flew into a berzerking rage and began hacking away at the living roots with hapless abandon. With a prayer to the goddess Elune, Tirren began an deadly incantation, calling on the arcane powers of the druid to aid him. It was a race against time, one in which Tirren was insistent he win. In the last moments as the roots strength failed and they began giving way, the spell he chanted was complete and the powerful channel of energy he had called exploded down from the heavens landing on the intended target with heavenly wrath. The warrior flew apart, what was left at him, as the energy tore the very fabric of his unnatural being. The fight was over and Tirren had won.
Too much time had been wasted, the mission still incomplete. Turning his body contorted and changed and moments later he was dashing through the jungle, a cheetah at full speed. He paid little attention to the scores of creatures and beasts his quick pace had startled or upset, his mind barely even registered most of them; had they, he may have changed his tactics before becoming their pray. Fortunately, most of the beasts were not used to being disturbed in such a manner, and that aided by the quickness and agility of the cheetah form he had taken, allowed him to escape each encounter unscathed. After some time he was approaching a clearing. He aimed directly for it, intent on a rest in an area where he could see more ground safely than surrounded by the dense foliage and rolling landscape of the crater. Breaking the barrier, he immediately turned and dashed back inside having spotted a party of Orcs camping in the center. Hoping he had not been spotted he panted for quick breath and scouted the assembled party. From what he could tell it consisted of a priest, mage, and a warrior, all of youthful appearance, and looking to be somewhat inexperienced. If it weren’t for the priest they would be quick and simple to dispatch, but shielded behind him, the damage the mage could bestow would be great, and with the mission to mind he could not risk it, even for the greater good.
Tirren began making quiet progress around the edge of the clearing, staying just beyond the shadows in the foliage as not to be seen. He sensed some danger but could not put a name to it and thus dismissed it to continue the careful, quiet trek around. A moment later his back paw flashed with a sharp, vengeful pain. Looking back he saw the wooden point of an arrow jutting out, and he could feel the poison of a hunters arrow beginning to course through him. A moment later a cry was sounded and the Orcish party jumped up and rushed directly for him. Behind him he could hear the crash of trees as the pet of the hunter came dashing for him; this was definitely not going as planned. With a thought he resumed his Darnassian form and in doing so the arrows was pushed from its place and fell to the floor. The would was bleeding furiously though and he had few precious moments to spare. With a quick incantation the poison was cleansed from his body and the would knitted itself whole again. He ducked just in time as a ball of fire exploded into the tree just where his head had been. With a shout of rage he committed himself to the violence as his muscles bulged and his frame grew larger. His hands grew into great bear paws with claws that could wreck a weaker body in two. Course brown fur covered his entire body as he reared back and roared a great challenge to the enemies who surrounded him. Tactics and options swam through his head, but they all left him with limited to know success. The real danger lie in the priest as he would sustain the entire party from any threat. He turned to face the threat, ready to give his life, hoping he wouldn’t have to.
Without warning the priest ripped forth a scream that was unbridled in fear and panic. Into the air he flew as a gaping mouth, picked him up in razor sharp fangs and swallowed him whole. A body ten times any sight he had ever seen shook even he to his nerves, truly told they grew the beast much greater in the crater. The horde turned to face the much greater threat of this brute king and in the confusion Tirren made his escape, besides what chance did he have against a tyrant the size of that thing, both alone and surrounded by his enemies. He ran like he’d never ran before, in the directions he had memorized, trying to beat any response to his intended destination. Magic and adrenaline fuelled his headlong race against time. Several times he heard great crashes and thrashing of foliage as he disturbed some other great beast. He neither turned to look nor cared, his only thought now was of reaching safety, of delivery his missive, of not failing.
He had run for sometime before noticing the drastic change to his surroundings. The foliage had once again given way to a land mostly barren and uninviting. Slowing to a halt he eyed his surroundings only then remembering the descriptions of the land of Silthus. Looking northward he could just barely see the silhouette of what must surely be Cenarian Hold, a safe haven from the dangers both behind and ahead, and towards this he set his destination. A few hours later he arrived generally unscathed. Some creatures had tried him for sure, but most had run from his unbridled wrath. It is said not to attempt the wrath of a druid when their course is set, and in such he had made an example many times over. He delivered the missive into the hands of the agent who immediately rushed to fulfill the instructions held within. Tirren had completed successfully what he had set out to do, and the weariness of his journey nearly consumed him. Luckily there was an inn, and a comfortable bed to regain his composure, guarded by his friends within the Cenarian enclave. He knew when he awake there would be another mission, another danger to face, but for now, he was content walking the emerald dream.
In mere moments, the dry, life-draining heat of the desert turned into a heavy, oppressive damp heat of the untamed jungle. Strange and exotic birds flew gracefully from one great tree to the next, sounding calls not heard in other lands in several millennia. Reaching the bottom of the trail, he dismissed his mount and began his trek on foot figuring it might be safer to stealth through the shadows unseen versus bringing attention from creatures unknown. After crossing a small river, Tirren got his first taste of the true nature of the untouched paradise. A clan of Raptors had gathered protecting their un-hatched eggs from unseen predators. For lack of better words, they were huge, at least twice if not three times the size of their distant cousins in Arathi; larger for sure, but not dangerously so, but definitely surprising, the rumors in part were true. Rather than engage a hostile force, even one so primitive, the mission must succeed, he went wide around.
After sometime of careful tracking, he came upon a small clearing by a lake. At the edge of the lake sat a rotting abomination of the undead. With gaping holes and tattered armor, the undead warrior methodically tore chunks of flesh from a young creature in its death throes. It appeared the creature had not given up without a fight, but had been incapacitated by the brute force of the living dead in its course for a meal. Knowing the importance of the mission, Tirren decided to momentarily put it on hold while he was in his own element. No living creature should ever have to suffer so, especially from the likes of the aberration of nature. With a thought his arms and legs shortened and the muscles grew stronger yet sleek. His fingers became claws, and his hands deadly paws. Black silky fur sprouted and quickly covered his body as his face elongated and tufted ears sprouted where his long Night-Elf ears had once been. Swishing his feline tail, Tirren prowled carefully towards his intended target with lethal intent. Moments later, deadly sharp claws ripped through the back of his unexpected victim dealing massive damage and temporarily leaving his opponent in confusion. A few moments later, the warrior attacked back. A great axe arced menacingly towards Tirren’s head with similar lethal intent. With the agility born of his form, and knowledge of countless opponents slain, Tirren deftly danced to the side as the Axe missed entirely jarring the warrior through the bone as the impact shattered the haft on the ground. Yanking a great sword from beside him, the warrior returned to the fight.
The battle had gone on too long, the warrior, his own prowess beginning to show, was beginning to anticipate the druids attacks and counter them with powerful strokes that just barely missed, yet grew closer with each attempted. Fearing the battle may turn for the worse, Tirren decided to get a little distance from the deadly swing of the warriors sword. A moment later, he realized his possibly deadly mistake. Warriors, were lethal in their brazen charges. The warrior was preparing to do just that, and to intercept what he believed to be a fleeing opponent. A moment later, with a thought, Tirren returned to his standing form and with a spell of nature the warriors charge was interrupted by the living growth of roots, laden with thorns, sprouting from the ground, entangling themselves in the legs and feet of the brute, bringing him to an effective halt. The warrior flew into a berzerking rage and began hacking away at the living roots with hapless abandon. With a prayer to the goddess Elune, Tirren began an deadly incantation, calling on the arcane powers of the druid to aid him. It was a race against time, one in which Tirren was insistent he win. In the last moments as the roots strength failed and they began giving way, the spell he chanted was complete and the powerful channel of energy he had called exploded down from the heavens landing on the intended target with heavenly wrath. The warrior flew apart, what was left at him, as the energy tore the very fabric of his unnatural being. The fight was over and Tirren had won.
Too much time had been wasted, the mission still incomplete. Turning his body contorted and changed and moments later he was dashing through the jungle, a cheetah at full speed. He paid little attention to the scores of creatures and beasts his quick pace had startled or upset, his mind barely even registered most of them; had they, he may have changed his tactics before becoming their pray. Fortunately, most of the beasts were not used to being disturbed in such a manner, and that aided by the quickness and agility of the cheetah form he had taken, allowed him to escape each encounter unscathed. After some time he was approaching a clearing. He aimed directly for it, intent on a rest in an area where he could see more ground safely than surrounded by the dense foliage and rolling landscape of the crater. Breaking the barrier, he immediately turned and dashed back inside having spotted a party of Orcs camping in the center. Hoping he had not been spotted he panted for quick breath and scouted the assembled party. From what he could tell it consisted of a priest, mage, and a warrior, all of youthful appearance, and looking to be somewhat inexperienced. If it weren’t for the priest they would be quick and simple to dispatch, but shielded behind him, the damage the mage could bestow would be great, and with the mission to mind he could not risk it, even for the greater good.
Tirren began making quiet progress around the edge of the clearing, staying just beyond the shadows in the foliage as not to be seen. He sensed some danger but could not put a name to it and thus dismissed it to continue the careful, quiet trek around. A moment later his back paw flashed with a sharp, vengeful pain. Looking back he saw the wooden point of an arrow jutting out, and he could feel the poison of a hunters arrow beginning to course through him. A moment later a cry was sounded and the Orcish party jumped up and rushed directly for him. Behind him he could hear the crash of trees as the pet of the hunter came dashing for him; this was definitely not going as planned. With a thought he resumed his Darnassian form and in doing so the arrows was pushed from its place and fell to the floor. The would was bleeding furiously though and he had few precious moments to spare. With a quick incantation the poison was cleansed from his body and the would knitted itself whole again. He ducked just in time as a ball of fire exploded into the tree just where his head had been. With a shout of rage he committed himself to the violence as his muscles bulged and his frame grew larger. His hands grew into great bear paws with claws that could wreck a weaker body in two. Course brown fur covered his entire body as he reared back and roared a great challenge to the enemies who surrounded him. Tactics and options swam through his head, but they all left him with limited to know success. The real danger lie in the priest as he would sustain the entire party from any threat. He turned to face the threat, ready to give his life, hoping he wouldn’t have to.
Without warning the priest ripped forth a scream that was unbridled in fear and panic. Into the air he flew as a gaping mouth, picked him up in razor sharp fangs and swallowed him whole. A body ten times any sight he had ever seen shook even he to his nerves, truly told they grew the beast much greater in the crater. The horde turned to face the much greater threat of this brute king and in the confusion Tirren made his escape, besides what chance did he have against a tyrant the size of that thing, both alone and surrounded by his enemies. He ran like he’d never ran before, in the directions he had memorized, trying to beat any response to his intended destination. Magic and adrenaline fuelled his headlong race against time. Several times he heard great crashes and thrashing of foliage as he disturbed some other great beast. He neither turned to look nor cared, his only thought now was of reaching safety, of delivery his missive, of not failing.
He had run for sometime before noticing the drastic change to his surroundings. The foliage had once again given way to a land mostly barren and uninviting. Slowing to a halt he eyed his surroundings only then remembering the descriptions of the land of Silthus. Looking northward he could just barely see the silhouette of what must surely be Cenarian Hold, a safe haven from the dangers both behind and ahead, and towards this he set his destination. A few hours later he arrived generally unscathed. Some creatures had tried him for sure, but most had run from his unbridled wrath. It is said not to attempt the wrath of a druid when their course is set, and in such he had made an example many times over. He delivered the missive into the hands of the agent who immediately rushed to fulfill the instructions held within. Tirren had completed successfully what he had set out to do, and the weariness of his journey nearly consumed him. Luckily there was an inn, and a comfortable bed to regain his composure, guarded by his friends within the Cenarian enclave. He knew when he awake there would be another mission, another danger to face, but for now, he was content walking the emerald dream.