turen
06-09-2006, 01:44 AM
(( Well, with the Longrifle Conflict about a month away I decided its time to get some character attachments going. Heres a little something I threw together, although my part in the battle is pretty self explanatory. Want your guy to have a unique part to play? Put it in, this is more or less an Open RP, just try to keep it involved with the battle, Axe High!))
The Goblin town of Gadgetzan baked under the Tanaris sun. It was a clear day, but then it was always clear unless there was a sandstorm coming. The effects of the heat could be seen in every aspect of life in the desert city. A goblin sold water at quadruple prices to a passing Orc, a group of Gnomes relaxed in the Inn, and of course the infamous Bruisers locked up any whom the heat drove to madness. Of the dozens of passing adventurers and hundreds of Goblins profiting off of them, Turen alone was not hot. This is because of all the denizens of Gadgetzan, Turen was not alive, nor Undead. He was a shade. He could not be seen nor touched, though he saw and heard all quite well. The problem was Turen had no free will to speak of. His was controlled by a group of evil Warlocks thousands of miles away in Silverpine Forest.
Turen remembered with vivid clarity what the monsters had done to him. He had been burned, frozen, and finally blasted with arcane energy. Then when he had thought the ordeal done, even as he ascended to the Halls of Light, the Warlock called him back in his spectral form to serve his needs for eternity. He had wanted to cry out, but he could not. He had wanted to throttle the life out of the Warlock, but he could not. Through some black magic, Turen’s every move was controlled by the Warlock. The first few months had been rough. He was mentally crying out in anguish the entire time and his ceaseless attempts to break free of the spell usually resulted in the Warlock controlling him bringing Turen unimaginable pain. He had been forced to watch battles in which the Alliance forces were decimated; usually due to the information Turen had been instrumental in providing. But that wasn’t even the worst part. It was the isolation that brought Turen to the brink of despair. He was absolutely cut off from any form of companionship. The only voice he would ever hear was that of the Warlock, who would taunt him knowing full well that Turen couldn’t even reply. No matter the troubles previously during his life he had had the companionship of the Regiment to rely on, even during his exile to Desolace he would run into somebody from Nijels Point to at least get news of the outside world from. The lack of fellowship was the worst because it filled him with such sorrow that he feared he would go mad. Finally, his Dwarven discipline came to him. He had determined that he would remember everything to do with the Horde he saw, and he vowed that he would be free to put the information to good use. I’ll get me body back, Turen thought, and I’ll rip that bastard heart out meself!
Now he seemed to be tracking a few mercenaries, Thorns and Roses. He recognized the tabard but little else of the band. As a soldier who had dedicated his life to his country, he was more than a little disgusted by those that sold themselves to the highest bidder. Without any conscious thought, Turen’s ‘body’ strode towards the Inn where a Thorns member, a female Night Elf, had entered. The Warlock didn’t even bother sending him around to the door, as being a shade enabled him to pass through the adobe walls with ease. In the far corner near the sheets of straw that served as beds he saw the Elf speak to some Gnomes. They spoke in Elvish and so the conversation meant little to Turen, though undoubtedly the warlock had somebody translating for him back in Silverpine. After a few minutes the Gnomes departed yet the Elf stayed. She stretched out her magnificent body before setting her sword on the ground next to one of the straw ‘beds’. Turen noted with approval the mercenary kept a dagger within easy reach as she lay down and drifted off to sleep. An idea came to Turen. He had heard somewhere that Ghosts could speak to you in your dreams. With all his concentration Turen willed he forward searing pain flashed through his head but Turen struggled on. For a moment nothing happened, until finally Turen took one step. A sensation came upon him that nearly had him laughing with joy. He felt as if he had just been unchained after being bound for centuries. Realizing that he had little time to spare, he ran to the dozing mercenary. “Get to General Garbhan. Tell him Turen Longrifle lives, Silverpine forest. He’ll pay ye.” He repeated this several times before he was suddenly engulfed in darkness.
You miserable little wretch! Have you no idea the pain I could bring to you on a whim?
The Warlocks words boomed inside his head, making Turen want to scream. The warlock gave him a nasty laugh.
Your friends cannot help you. You’ve merely hastened their death. However for your insolence, you must pay.
Agony pulsed through out Turen’s body until after what seemed to be an eternity the darkness dissipated, only now he was in the all too familiar haunted woods of Silverpine forest.
The Goblin town of Gadgetzan baked under the Tanaris sun. It was a clear day, but then it was always clear unless there was a sandstorm coming. The effects of the heat could be seen in every aspect of life in the desert city. A goblin sold water at quadruple prices to a passing Orc, a group of Gnomes relaxed in the Inn, and of course the infamous Bruisers locked up any whom the heat drove to madness. Of the dozens of passing adventurers and hundreds of Goblins profiting off of them, Turen alone was not hot. This is because of all the denizens of Gadgetzan, Turen was not alive, nor Undead. He was a shade. He could not be seen nor touched, though he saw and heard all quite well. The problem was Turen had no free will to speak of. His was controlled by a group of evil Warlocks thousands of miles away in Silverpine Forest.
Turen remembered with vivid clarity what the monsters had done to him. He had been burned, frozen, and finally blasted with arcane energy. Then when he had thought the ordeal done, even as he ascended to the Halls of Light, the Warlock called him back in his spectral form to serve his needs for eternity. He had wanted to cry out, but he could not. He had wanted to throttle the life out of the Warlock, but he could not. Through some black magic, Turen’s every move was controlled by the Warlock. The first few months had been rough. He was mentally crying out in anguish the entire time and his ceaseless attempts to break free of the spell usually resulted in the Warlock controlling him bringing Turen unimaginable pain. He had been forced to watch battles in which the Alliance forces were decimated; usually due to the information Turen had been instrumental in providing. But that wasn’t even the worst part. It was the isolation that brought Turen to the brink of despair. He was absolutely cut off from any form of companionship. The only voice he would ever hear was that of the Warlock, who would taunt him knowing full well that Turen couldn’t even reply. No matter the troubles previously during his life he had had the companionship of the Regiment to rely on, even during his exile to Desolace he would run into somebody from Nijels Point to at least get news of the outside world from. The lack of fellowship was the worst because it filled him with such sorrow that he feared he would go mad. Finally, his Dwarven discipline came to him. He had determined that he would remember everything to do with the Horde he saw, and he vowed that he would be free to put the information to good use. I’ll get me body back, Turen thought, and I’ll rip that bastard heart out meself!
Now he seemed to be tracking a few mercenaries, Thorns and Roses. He recognized the tabard but little else of the band. As a soldier who had dedicated his life to his country, he was more than a little disgusted by those that sold themselves to the highest bidder. Without any conscious thought, Turen’s ‘body’ strode towards the Inn where a Thorns member, a female Night Elf, had entered. The Warlock didn’t even bother sending him around to the door, as being a shade enabled him to pass through the adobe walls with ease. In the far corner near the sheets of straw that served as beds he saw the Elf speak to some Gnomes. They spoke in Elvish and so the conversation meant little to Turen, though undoubtedly the warlock had somebody translating for him back in Silverpine. After a few minutes the Gnomes departed yet the Elf stayed. She stretched out her magnificent body before setting her sword on the ground next to one of the straw ‘beds’. Turen noted with approval the mercenary kept a dagger within easy reach as she lay down and drifted off to sleep. An idea came to Turen. He had heard somewhere that Ghosts could speak to you in your dreams. With all his concentration Turen willed he forward searing pain flashed through his head but Turen struggled on. For a moment nothing happened, until finally Turen took one step. A sensation came upon him that nearly had him laughing with joy. He felt as if he had just been unchained after being bound for centuries. Realizing that he had little time to spare, he ran to the dozing mercenary. “Get to General Garbhan. Tell him Turen Longrifle lives, Silverpine forest. He’ll pay ye.” He repeated this several times before he was suddenly engulfed in darkness.
You miserable little wretch! Have you no idea the pain I could bring to you on a whim?
The Warlocks words boomed inside his head, making Turen want to scream. The warlock gave him a nasty laugh.
Your friends cannot help you. You’ve merely hastened their death. However for your insolence, you must pay.
Agony pulsed through out Turen’s body until after what seemed to be an eternity the darkness dissipated, only now he was in the all too familiar haunted woods of Silverpine forest.