Fhenrir
06-08-2006, 06:00 PM
(( As requested by my guildmates I wrote up this story to explain a recent change ingame. Enjoy! ))
Fhenrir sat alone in the pub, in Ratchet. It was a dark, cloudy night outside, and the only source of light was a candle he had lit and set on the table.
“Chieftain… what does the title mean?” Fhenrir looked down at his tabard, allowing it to rest casually in his grasp. Dropping it to the side and letting it hit the floor, he picked up a small piece of parchment that had the words “Confusion Guild Charter” written along the top.
He read it aloud to himself…
“Our guild is dubbed 'Confusion' for a number of reasons.
The Confusion that comes from times of war. Wondering if you are really on the proper side of things during all the bloodshed.
The Confusion caused by our very blades as we charge into the ranks of our opponents, and cause a wave of fear and death to roll over them as we pass through.
The Confusion over life itself. Have I made the right choices? What should I do next? Should I give it all up, and try something else?
The Confusion we find ourselves trying to purge from the world, and from ourselves every day. The Confusion we cannot seem to quell.
Confusion strives for strength, honor, and bravery. You are to respect these qualities and aim to achieve them yourself. You are also to respect your fellow guild members, no matter what personal skirmishes you may get into with them, and aid them in perfecting these qualities within themselves. You are to hold pride for your membership in our guild. Anyone who tries to tell you we are not worth your time is wrong.
Finally, you are to work with the rest of the Confusion for the best possible outcome for all of us. Personal sacrifices must sometimes be made for the best of all of us. Be prepared to fall in battle for the glory of the Horde. For the glory of...
The Confusion.”
“Hmph. Nothing but show.” Fhenrir spit off to the side, a small slimy sound echoing through the otherwise silent pub as it hit the floor.
“What I formed the guild for was to allow myself and my allies a home. It was that simple. We were never tightly knit, never well-known, and the most profound purpose it served was the decoration of the tabard.” Fhenrir thought to himself as he gazed down to the tabard, which was laying in a pile on the floor. He tossed the charter on top of it and rested his chin in his hands, thinking to himself.
“How did we compose ourselves…? Or were we trying to confuse ourselves by serving no purpose at all…?”
“In regards to the Alliance… particularly those found out in the world. You are expected to act with honor in all association with the Alliance. This does not mean you cannot harm them, but you must give them the chance they deserve for a fair demise.”
A light sprinkle of rain began to fall outside as Fhenrir remembered what he had spoken to his friends the night the guild had been formed, with only the four of them on the roster.
“Attacking them while they’re already fighting a beast, or while they’re injured, or of much lower skill than you is unacceptable.”
Fhenrir scoffed as he remembered this sentiment. Who was he kidding… he’d slain beings of much lesser talent for no reason other than “it’s fun to put a little rattle in their bones”.
“In any case, you should treat anyone and everyone intelligent with respect and patience until they provide you a reason not to. Acting like a common thick-head is not acceptable.”
Fhenrir rested his face in his palms as he remembered this. Again, he’d broken this rule more than anyone else who bore his tabard. He’d treated members of the Horde with disgust for no reason other than “I don’t like the way they’re looking at me…”
“Our guild never had any guidelines. At best, we were a loose association of comrades. At least, we would call ourselves comrades if we ever worked together… it’s been months since I’ve done a single thing with any of them.” Fhenrir sighed. They had no purpose, no direction, no goals. The lightning bolts of the tabard were almost more suited to be arm rests, because the guild could have spent all day in the pub and it would have made no difference.
Fhenrir raised his head from his hands slowly as a crack of thunder sounded outside the inn. His necklace rattled slightly as he did, which brought his gaze down to it. The necklace was rather simple, almost resembling a hearthstone, but instead bearing the symbol of Confusion.
Twin lightning bolts.
“These necklaces, as enchanted by our Veteran Akutazee, will allow us to speak to one another across long distances. I expect everyone to keep in touch via these necklaces regularly.”
Fhenrir removed the gem from around his neck and stared at it for a long moment, his gaze fixated on the guild symbol. He spoke into it less than anyone else, and his brow began to furrow in rage as his look turned into a glare. Suddenly, he drove his fist down into the necklace and crushed it between his hands, ignoring the stinging feeling as shards of the necklace found their way into his skin.
He sighed heavily, shaking the pieces of glass from his hands and brushing his hands off on his pants. He stood up and dug through his backpack for a bandage, and quickly wrapped it around his hands. The pain was already dying away as his thoughts drifted back to his guild…
“We don’t communicate? Well, when was the last time any of you said anything into the necklace? What, me? Well, I would… but I’m too busy! Have you seen how intense the battle for the gulch can get? You expect me to talk during that?!”
He snarled slightly, and began to walk towards the open exit from the pub. A few droplets of rain sprinkled in and landed on his hooves as his gaze found it’s way to the sky. He watched the flashes of lightning for a moment, remembering the time he‘d spent fighting the Alliance. “I didn’t speak to any of them, at all… I took my allies for granted, and they still looked up to me as a leader…”
Day in, day out, for what felt like years, he’d clashed all day every day in the endless struggle for Alterac Valley, Warsong Gulch, and Arathi Basin. He’d slowly climbed the ranks of the Horde, and found himself suited as a Champion. But during all this time… where were his friends?
“No I can’t help you, I’m too damn busy! The Basin keeps calling me, and I have to serve the Horde!”
Fhenrir frowned as he paced back over to his guild tabard, and stared down at it. The others who showed these colors… the others who swore themselves to his leadership. Were they proud? Did they enjoy having a leader who spent all of his time fighting off the Alliance? A leader who had to schedule time away from his battles just so he could secure his leadership at hour-long meetings?
Fhenrir picked up the charter from his tabard, and crumbled it in his hands. He balled the parchment up tightly and threw it towards the doorway, letting it splash into a mud puddle outside the door. “Good riddance…”
His eyes quickly turned back to the tabard, as he thought of his members. And moreover, how few he’d recruited. “Of course we should get more recruits, Akutazee. But I’ve just been so busy… and what have YOU done for the guild? Warlord my ass, when was the last time you even asked someone if they wanted to join Confusion?!”
His thoughts drifted to Akutazee, his “Warlord”. He spit again. The troll who had pledged himself to Fhenrir through blood oath, but still sought a way to belittle him at every opportunity. The troll who basked in every opportunity to shed blood, and to kill without mercy. The troll who called him a heretic for speaking of the Earthmother. Akutazee had always been quick to rattle off the names of troll priests, god, heretics, all kinds of nonsense. Fhenrir had never been particularly religious, so he’d always just tuned it out. The Earthmother was religion enough for him, and even then…
The Earthmother. His thoughts drifted to the druids who worshipped her, and how often they’d scolded him for taking their faith so lightly. His mind shifted to a specific druid then, one who’d never passed that kind of judgment on him…
His bride, Kaliera. For the first time in the evening a smile crossed his face, but only for a moment before his eyes caught his tabard again, still in a ball at his hooves.
“What was that? No… I don’t have the time right now. Why? I’m waiting for Kali… she just might be here tonight. What? I know I haven’t seen her in over a week… but, she might decide to find me tonight. I can’t take the chance that I’d miss her if she comes looking for me.”
“No, I don’t have any money… I just spent my last silver buying this new dress for Kali. Do you think she’ll like it? I think it‘s pretty cute, she‘ll look great in it…”
“No time right now, I’ve got plans with my fiancé!”
“Do you want to attend our wedding? You’re all invited. …I know you haven’t met her. We’ve just been busy is all!”
He loved her so dearly. Another smile crossed his lips momentarily… And then his thoughts stopped in their tracks.
His lovely wife, Kaliera.
His rank in the Horde.
His own, selfish aspirations…
He had been self-centered this whole time. He hadn’t done a single worthwhile thing for his guild except give them a pretty tabard. A tabard that looked so, so ugly in his eyes…
Fhenrir gathered his belongings, took his tabard into his hand, and walked out of the inn into the rain. He walked slowly to the docks, his clothing already sopping wet by the time he reached the end. A load growl echoed out through all of Ratchet as Fhenrir tore his tabard in two. He looked at the pieces in his hands for a moment, watching a few fibers float down to the water. He sighed and dropped the two last pieces into the water below, a loud splash echoing as each piece fell into the water and slowly sunk in, forever fading from his sight. For the first time in a long time he was no longer confused.
He was a Chieftain no more.
Confusion was no more.
Fhenrir sat alone in the pub, in Ratchet. It was a dark, cloudy night outside, and the only source of light was a candle he had lit and set on the table.
“Chieftain… what does the title mean?” Fhenrir looked down at his tabard, allowing it to rest casually in his grasp. Dropping it to the side and letting it hit the floor, he picked up a small piece of parchment that had the words “Confusion Guild Charter” written along the top.
He read it aloud to himself…
“Our guild is dubbed 'Confusion' for a number of reasons.
The Confusion that comes from times of war. Wondering if you are really on the proper side of things during all the bloodshed.
The Confusion caused by our very blades as we charge into the ranks of our opponents, and cause a wave of fear and death to roll over them as we pass through.
The Confusion over life itself. Have I made the right choices? What should I do next? Should I give it all up, and try something else?
The Confusion we find ourselves trying to purge from the world, and from ourselves every day. The Confusion we cannot seem to quell.
Confusion strives for strength, honor, and bravery. You are to respect these qualities and aim to achieve them yourself. You are also to respect your fellow guild members, no matter what personal skirmishes you may get into with them, and aid them in perfecting these qualities within themselves. You are to hold pride for your membership in our guild. Anyone who tries to tell you we are not worth your time is wrong.
Finally, you are to work with the rest of the Confusion for the best possible outcome for all of us. Personal sacrifices must sometimes be made for the best of all of us. Be prepared to fall in battle for the glory of the Horde. For the glory of...
The Confusion.”
“Hmph. Nothing but show.” Fhenrir spit off to the side, a small slimy sound echoing through the otherwise silent pub as it hit the floor.
“What I formed the guild for was to allow myself and my allies a home. It was that simple. We were never tightly knit, never well-known, and the most profound purpose it served was the decoration of the tabard.” Fhenrir thought to himself as he gazed down to the tabard, which was laying in a pile on the floor. He tossed the charter on top of it and rested his chin in his hands, thinking to himself.
“How did we compose ourselves…? Or were we trying to confuse ourselves by serving no purpose at all…?”
“In regards to the Alliance… particularly those found out in the world. You are expected to act with honor in all association with the Alliance. This does not mean you cannot harm them, but you must give them the chance they deserve for a fair demise.”
A light sprinkle of rain began to fall outside as Fhenrir remembered what he had spoken to his friends the night the guild had been formed, with only the four of them on the roster.
“Attacking them while they’re already fighting a beast, or while they’re injured, or of much lower skill than you is unacceptable.”
Fhenrir scoffed as he remembered this sentiment. Who was he kidding… he’d slain beings of much lesser talent for no reason other than “it’s fun to put a little rattle in their bones”.
“In any case, you should treat anyone and everyone intelligent with respect and patience until they provide you a reason not to. Acting like a common thick-head is not acceptable.”
Fhenrir rested his face in his palms as he remembered this. Again, he’d broken this rule more than anyone else who bore his tabard. He’d treated members of the Horde with disgust for no reason other than “I don’t like the way they’re looking at me…”
“Our guild never had any guidelines. At best, we were a loose association of comrades. At least, we would call ourselves comrades if we ever worked together… it’s been months since I’ve done a single thing with any of them.” Fhenrir sighed. They had no purpose, no direction, no goals. The lightning bolts of the tabard were almost more suited to be arm rests, because the guild could have spent all day in the pub and it would have made no difference.
Fhenrir raised his head from his hands slowly as a crack of thunder sounded outside the inn. His necklace rattled slightly as he did, which brought his gaze down to it. The necklace was rather simple, almost resembling a hearthstone, but instead bearing the symbol of Confusion.
Twin lightning bolts.
“These necklaces, as enchanted by our Veteran Akutazee, will allow us to speak to one another across long distances. I expect everyone to keep in touch via these necklaces regularly.”
Fhenrir removed the gem from around his neck and stared at it for a long moment, his gaze fixated on the guild symbol. He spoke into it less than anyone else, and his brow began to furrow in rage as his look turned into a glare. Suddenly, he drove his fist down into the necklace and crushed it between his hands, ignoring the stinging feeling as shards of the necklace found their way into his skin.
He sighed heavily, shaking the pieces of glass from his hands and brushing his hands off on his pants. He stood up and dug through his backpack for a bandage, and quickly wrapped it around his hands. The pain was already dying away as his thoughts drifted back to his guild…
“We don’t communicate? Well, when was the last time any of you said anything into the necklace? What, me? Well, I would… but I’m too busy! Have you seen how intense the battle for the gulch can get? You expect me to talk during that?!”
He snarled slightly, and began to walk towards the open exit from the pub. A few droplets of rain sprinkled in and landed on his hooves as his gaze found it’s way to the sky. He watched the flashes of lightning for a moment, remembering the time he‘d spent fighting the Alliance. “I didn’t speak to any of them, at all… I took my allies for granted, and they still looked up to me as a leader…”
Day in, day out, for what felt like years, he’d clashed all day every day in the endless struggle for Alterac Valley, Warsong Gulch, and Arathi Basin. He’d slowly climbed the ranks of the Horde, and found himself suited as a Champion. But during all this time… where were his friends?
“No I can’t help you, I’m too damn busy! The Basin keeps calling me, and I have to serve the Horde!”
Fhenrir frowned as he paced back over to his guild tabard, and stared down at it. The others who showed these colors… the others who swore themselves to his leadership. Were they proud? Did they enjoy having a leader who spent all of his time fighting off the Alliance? A leader who had to schedule time away from his battles just so he could secure his leadership at hour-long meetings?
Fhenrir picked up the charter from his tabard, and crumbled it in his hands. He balled the parchment up tightly and threw it towards the doorway, letting it splash into a mud puddle outside the door. “Good riddance…”
His eyes quickly turned back to the tabard, as he thought of his members. And moreover, how few he’d recruited. “Of course we should get more recruits, Akutazee. But I’ve just been so busy… and what have YOU done for the guild? Warlord my ass, when was the last time you even asked someone if they wanted to join Confusion?!”
His thoughts drifted to Akutazee, his “Warlord”. He spit again. The troll who had pledged himself to Fhenrir through blood oath, but still sought a way to belittle him at every opportunity. The troll who basked in every opportunity to shed blood, and to kill without mercy. The troll who called him a heretic for speaking of the Earthmother. Akutazee had always been quick to rattle off the names of troll priests, god, heretics, all kinds of nonsense. Fhenrir had never been particularly religious, so he’d always just tuned it out. The Earthmother was religion enough for him, and even then…
The Earthmother. His thoughts drifted to the druids who worshipped her, and how often they’d scolded him for taking their faith so lightly. His mind shifted to a specific druid then, one who’d never passed that kind of judgment on him…
His bride, Kaliera. For the first time in the evening a smile crossed his face, but only for a moment before his eyes caught his tabard again, still in a ball at his hooves.
“What was that? No… I don’t have the time right now. Why? I’m waiting for Kali… she just might be here tonight. What? I know I haven’t seen her in over a week… but, she might decide to find me tonight. I can’t take the chance that I’d miss her if she comes looking for me.”
“No, I don’t have any money… I just spent my last silver buying this new dress for Kali. Do you think she’ll like it? I think it‘s pretty cute, she‘ll look great in it…”
“No time right now, I’ve got plans with my fiancé!”
“Do you want to attend our wedding? You’re all invited. …I know you haven’t met her. We’ve just been busy is all!”
He loved her so dearly. Another smile crossed his lips momentarily… And then his thoughts stopped in their tracks.
His lovely wife, Kaliera.
His rank in the Horde.
His own, selfish aspirations…
He had been self-centered this whole time. He hadn’t done a single worthwhile thing for his guild except give them a pretty tabard. A tabard that looked so, so ugly in his eyes…
Fhenrir gathered his belongings, took his tabard into his hand, and walked out of the inn into the rain. He walked slowly to the docks, his clothing already sopping wet by the time he reached the end. A load growl echoed out through all of Ratchet as Fhenrir tore his tabard in two. He looked at the pieces in his hands for a moment, watching a few fibers float down to the water. He sighed and dropped the two last pieces into the water below, a loud splash echoing as each piece fell into the water and slowly sunk in, forever fading from his sight. For the first time in a long time he was no longer confused.
He was a Chieftain no more.
Confusion was no more.