Farewell from a Dwarf of the Regiment

[turen]

(( Well, guys, I hate to say it but unfortunetly I will be leaving TN and WoW, probably for good. RL reasons and as the great Garban often says " RL>WoW, just barely". But what kinda RPer would I be without leaving all you guys a reason for my dissapearence? So I'm writing one last story for you, hope you like it. Its a two parter, and I'll post the rest later))

Part 1: Eve of Battle


The night was young as the almost giddy Captain Turen Longrifle left his small home in Ironforge. His paperwork for the Regiment was done and by the same time the next day he and a large host of the Alliance, including a squad from his beloved Ironforge Regiment, razing Splintertree Outpost to the ground.. His step light, he strode through the streets of Ironforge, remembering how he had cheered upon hearing that the elven sentinel, Puden, planned the attack. As neared the gates, Turen heard a quarrel. He scanned the area until he found a Man and two elves, one male one female. Turen marched up to the group with a swagger, knowing that it fell under his duties to keep the peace in the dwarven city. Seemed both the males were arguing over the elven female. Not suprisin’, Turen thought to himself. He had always enjoyed the company of the slender elves rathen than the stocky dwarven women. The argument looked like it could get violent by the time Turen reached them. “ What seems t’ be the problem?” Turen demanded, his voice strong and full of authority attained through years of training Dwarves for war. The male elf turned to him. “ Oh, just some hotheaded Human trying to take that which is mine. No need for concern.” The humans face reddened at this and struggled to keep his voice from a shout as he told the dwarf, “ Good Dwarf, this Elf has somehow gained sway over the hold of my love! She told me just yesterday how she despised him, yet now he has gotten her to follow him to light knows where!” Turen frowned and examined the female and found nothing to indicate any sort of enchantment. Durned elves and men, always getting all touchy feely wi’ their women. Turen thought. The male elf quickly lost his patience, and began to grab for the female. In retaliation, the man went for his sword but both stopped as Turen fired a shot from his pistol at the ground in between them. “ The next one o’ ye to make a move will find yerself flunderin’ in the lava o’ the Great Forge!” Turen growled. Both elf and man began to protect, but Turen’s steely glare silenced them. After some thought, Turen grinned. “ Ah think ah’ve found a solution to this..” Turen turned to the female “ Lass, would ye like t’ join me fer a drink?” The she elf chuckled before replying “ Of course!”. Without pause, Turen had his arm around her waist and was leading her towards Bruuks Corner, leaving both males staring after him in disbelief. Turen chuckled to himself. He had intended to go out hunting for the night in preperatiuon for the upcoming battle, but he had no doubt that the lass would raise his ‘morale’ instead, so it would be a fair trade. Turen smiled to himself. Blood in the morning and a woman for the night. All was right in the world.

[turen]

“Bruuk! Get me some ale, yer strongest!” Turen growled as he stormed through the door of Bruuks Corner, Ironforges best tavern and often jokingly referred to as “Regiment Headquarters”. “Guess the fight didn’t go too well,” Bruuk mumbled as he hurriedly filled a mug with ale from a small barrel he kept hidden under the bar. He had no desire to experience another bout of Turen Longrifles infamous drunken rage. Turen thanklessly grabbed his pint and took a seat in the far corner of the tavern, his thoughts never leaving the battle. The Horde had known they were coming. The Alliance column had been swarmed on both sides by Horde on the long march through Ashenvale forest. They had been vastly outnumbered, and whoever was quordnating the Horde attacks was a masterful commander. They would swarm out the sides of the road, fight for a few minuted, and disappear as quickly as thay had come. Turen shook his head at how the dishonorable tactic had taaked the alliance completely by surprise. In the end, thay had made it inside Splintertree and had inflicted damage but were soon forced to retreate by a flanking force of Horde. So deep in thought was he that he didn’t notice Borgas sit down in front of him. “Turen, lad stop beatin yerself up over this! There was a bloody intelligence leak t’ the Horde, not yer fault! All the lads in our squad made it back fine, just a couple o’ scrapes and bruises…” Borgas sighed, knowing his attempts at cheering the Dwarf were in vain. Turen didn’t respond for a long while. “ Ah’m goin’. See ye tomorrow lad. A loss is a loss, and the Alliance can’t take many more” He finally said. With that Turen made his way out through the streets of Ironforge and into the snows of Dun Morogh, grumbling the whole way. Turen paused once outside to study the huge war engines that guarded the Gates. “Too bad we can’ bring some o’ them o’er inta Kalimdor… then we’d stamp them damned Horde flat!” he muttered under his breath. After a moment of scolding himself for bothering with what cannot be Turen continued down the ramp and onto the road to Amberstill Ranch. He had a place in the city, but in his small home near Amberstill he had privacy and he didn’t want people pestering him with well wishing after a lost battle. Turen hated to be pitied. Being looked down on made his stomach burn with embarrassment. Turen halted at the side of the road where he sat on a log and took a few sips from his Regiment canteen and rested. He was about to continue on again when he heard a twig snap behind him. Turen turned just in time to catch a Tauren fist in the face, sending him sprawling on his back. Turen wasted no time in grabbing a dagger and shoving it into the inside of the Taurens thigh, severing the artery. The Tauren would bleed out in minutes, but Orcs and more Tauren were springing out from behind trees and from under piles of snow, far too many for Turen to take alone. An orc lifted Turen from the ground, thinking he had the dwarf captured but Turen brought his mailed boot into the startled creatures groin. Turen fell to the ground and grabbed the Orcs spear. Another Tauren wielding a blunt mace came at him, swinging to knock the dwarf upside the head. Turen dove through its legs turned around and stabbed up through the Taurens lower back and into its chest, puncturing a lung. Unable to pull the spear out, Turen began to draw his axes when a pair of burly Orcs grabbed each of his arms and held him high. Turen struggled but it was useless as more got a hold of him. As soon as Turen stopped struggling his nostrils were assaulted with the smell of rotting flesh. From the left an undead in the robes of a shadow priest stride into his vision, flanked by two Tauren. The undead grinned, her shredded lips tearing over her rotting teath as her toxic green eyes glared into Turens. “So this is the butcher of Freewind…” she spat as she slapped Turen across the face with a backhand. Turen felt blood drip down his face from where the fleshless claw where had struck. He started to respond but the two Tauren beat him into unconsciousness. Hours later, Borgas followed the road, headed to Turen’s home near Amberstill. As he reached the spot where Turen had been taken, he noticed the tracks in the snow. He followed them to find the trail ended abruptly in the snow. Bloody portal! He thought and dashed back to Ironforge.

Turen awoke to find himself chained on an altar, his weapons and armor gone. One eye was blind and much of his beard had been torn off. Then he noticed chanting around him and glanced about to see an undead mage, the shadow priest who had struck him, an Orc warlock, a Troll Shaman and a Tauren druid encircling the altar, all of them chanting in a strange toungue which Turen had never heard before. Suddenly the Druid gave out a great grunt and a beam of green light bore down upon Turen from the dark sky. Turen gasped in agony as he felt the light poison his skin. Next, the Warlock gave a cry as a dark beam fell upon him and crushed his very soul. The Shaman was next and lightning struck him repetedly. All the while the priest kept him alive as the Mage brought down a pillar of fire upon him. Then the priest stopped and the holy shield collapsed. The energied fell and consumed the body of Turen Longrifle entirely, leaving a skill and a scorched altar. Turen’s spirit, however, was unharmed. Slowly he felt himself being taken to the Halls of Light. Turen’s pain turned to ecstasy as all the pain of the world left him, all the guilt and uncertainty of his actions left him. Suddenly. The priest gave another cry and the lights went out and Turen fell to the cold hard earth. With a roar, he rushed the priest bringing a right-cross over the priests skeletal face. He was shocked as the fist went right through the Forsaken, leaving no mark nor doing no harm. The priest grinned uttered a word and Turen was blasted back a dozen feet and onto the earth. He watched as the group gathered his gear and his skull. He then realized that he was doomed to walk the earth a shade, unseen and unfeeling. It was the closed Turen had ever been to weeping. One sign gave him hope, however. As he watched the Orc carry off the armor Turen had worn, he noticed his Gnomebox, fall to the ground unnoticed…