turen
04-20-2007, 07:33 PM
Turen sat on the porch of his stone-made home in Loch Modan. The sun had just risen, and the light danced off the water gloriously. His attention was more drawn to the reddish tint, superstitiously a sure indicator of a battle past. There was hardly a day when the red sun did not rise, these days.
"All this fun, and ah'm missen' out..." he muttered bitterly and took a gulp from his stein, savoring the taste. Some new stout from a dwarf named Guinness, which was fast becoming his favorite. He set the stein down after a moment and rubbed his right hand, which was balled in a fist. It was rough and course, and thanks to a few Blood Elves it was made completely of stone. His shooting and drinking hand, gone. The thought made his blood boil. He took another gulp of Guinness stout, and thought back to the day.
It was late afternoon, and Turen could hear the movements of battle. His first instinct was to grab his guns and axes, strap on his old armor and lend a hand, but then he heard the sound of his wife, Camille, in the other room, doing her best to hide her fear. He spent half an hour barricading his house. He had plenty of cover, but he had only a few guns, and as fast as he could only put out so many shots at a time. Soon, there was nothing to do but wait. Turen had a rifle, a blunderbuss, and a brace of pistols with Camille crouched behing a box to load for him. There were various axes and spears strewn about the area. Turen couldn't help but feel a bit excited at the chance to kill someone again. After a year or so of marriage and working double shifts as a bouncer in the Loch Modan Inn to pay for his home, he had more than his share of rage.
Camille wimpered slightly and Turen put his arm around her, holding her close to his scarred body (which had gained a bit more bulk of late). "Come on now, non need t' be afraid. Wait till they go after yer bloody soul then we can talk" he said, his green eyes looking like they would burn as he let his mind drift back to that terrible time.
There was a knock at the door, bringing Turen from his thoughts. He should have noticed something getting this close...he could usually feel such things. Slowly, he came up from his crouched position just enough to see his front door out his window. Nothing.
Frowning, he rose a little higher. Something was not right. He heard his wife yelp behind him and he spun, leveling his rifle as he did so. A Blood Elf, clad in black leather stared back at him, one arm around Camille's neck, the other pointing a dagger at where her neck met her shoulder. A quick thrust from that blade, and Turren knew his wife would bleed out in seconds.
"Drop the gun..." the elf half whispered. Turen halted a moment, looking the elf over. Its eyes told him the elf would make good on his threat, but there was also a bead of sweat running down his brow. The Elf was nervous. Probably meant to have Turen drop the gun then kill Camille anyway. Turen nodded, slowly lowering his gun. An expression of relief malted across the Elf's features.
Pouncing on the opportunity, Turen snapped the weapon up and fired into the elfs face, hitting him in the left side of his forehead. The elf fell backwards, leaving Camille standing with some of the elfs blood on her. Turen ran to ocmfort her but he heard a few curses in elvish from downstars.
"How th' hell?" he thought, but the sooty footprints of the recently deceased answered him. The chimney. Turen grabbed an axe and started to reload his weapon.
(((More to come, I have to post whatever I write because I lost my word processing software)))
"All this fun, and ah'm missen' out..." he muttered bitterly and took a gulp from his stein, savoring the taste. Some new stout from a dwarf named Guinness, which was fast becoming his favorite. He set the stein down after a moment and rubbed his right hand, which was balled in a fist. It was rough and course, and thanks to a few Blood Elves it was made completely of stone. His shooting and drinking hand, gone. The thought made his blood boil. He took another gulp of Guinness stout, and thought back to the day.
It was late afternoon, and Turen could hear the movements of battle. His first instinct was to grab his guns and axes, strap on his old armor and lend a hand, but then he heard the sound of his wife, Camille, in the other room, doing her best to hide her fear. He spent half an hour barricading his house. He had plenty of cover, but he had only a few guns, and as fast as he could only put out so many shots at a time. Soon, there was nothing to do but wait. Turen had a rifle, a blunderbuss, and a brace of pistols with Camille crouched behing a box to load for him. There were various axes and spears strewn about the area. Turen couldn't help but feel a bit excited at the chance to kill someone again. After a year or so of marriage and working double shifts as a bouncer in the Loch Modan Inn to pay for his home, he had more than his share of rage.
Camille wimpered slightly and Turen put his arm around her, holding her close to his scarred body (which had gained a bit more bulk of late). "Come on now, non need t' be afraid. Wait till they go after yer bloody soul then we can talk" he said, his green eyes looking like they would burn as he let his mind drift back to that terrible time.
There was a knock at the door, bringing Turen from his thoughts. He should have noticed something getting this close...he could usually feel such things. Slowly, he came up from his crouched position just enough to see his front door out his window. Nothing.
Frowning, he rose a little higher. Something was not right. He heard his wife yelp behind him and he spun, leveling his rifle as he did so. A Blood Elf, clad in black leather stared back at him, one arm around Camille's neck, the other pointing a dagger at where her neck met her shoulder. A quick thrust from that blade, and Turren knew his wife would bleed out in seconds.
"Drop the gun..." the elf half whispered. Turen halted a moment, looking the elf over. Its eyes told him the elf would make good on his threat, but there was also a bead of sweat running down his brow. The Elf was nervous. Probably meant to have Turen drop the gun then kill Camille anyway. Turen nodded, slowly lowering his gun. An expression of relief malted across the Elf's features.
Pouncing on the opportunity, Turen snapped the weapon up and fired into the elfs face, hitting him in the left side of his forehead. The elf fell backwards, leaving Camille standing with some of the elfs blood on her. Turen ran to ocmfort her but he heard a few curses in elvish from downstars.
"How th' hell?" he thought, but the sooty footprints of the recently deceased answered him. The chimney. Turen grabbed an axe and started to reload his weapon.
(((More to come, I have to post whatever I write because I lost my word processing software)))