Her er dette jeg har skrevet så langt, over en periode på noen måneder. Har ikke fått veldig mye på papiret, men det blir mer skriving over juleferien. Kommentarer er svært velkomne. Jeg er i gang med å skrive om første del av historien da den gir inntrykk av å være for brokete, og for kort.----------In life... A young male, descendant of Anduin Lothar, was half-recruited, half-forced into the Stormwind Militia to fend off the Horde. Hesuin Lothar, as he was called, did not show any talent in the conventional ways of fighting, and was put on scouting duty. As the Second War raged, he was sent away into the valley of Dun Morogh to reconnoiter the doings of the Troll tribes in the area. However, the caravan from Stormwind faced harsh weather going over the mountains, and eventually a blizzard striking Coldridge Valley forced Hesuin to break his line and seek refuge in a nearby cave. Hesuin Lothar was three weeks later noted as M.I.A by the Stormwind Militia. Meanwhile.. --From the log of Hesuin Lothar of Stormwind-- Day 9 My rations are gone. The water is frozen to the core, and the only moisture I have gotten for the last four days are from melting snow. My coordinates are unknown, and I have seen naught but hostile savages and yeti on my reconnaisance. I fear this may be the end. Day 9 - Second entry I am going insane. In the darkness of the cave, something is moving.. I hear noises, and flickering light where there only was solid rock one day ago. When I touch the wall- iThe rest is unintelligible, page is ripped in half /i One year later: --Excerpt from Stormwind Guard recruiting log-- Recruit #002302-81 Name: Calls himself "Hestar" Origins: Unknown Other notes: Rambling about one "Wolf God", possibly mentally ill. Dispatched w. Proudmoore studying Plague. --Excerpt ended-- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -They are overwhelming us! Retreat! -I will hold them for as long as I can. Miss Proudmoore, please.. run. -Recruit, retreat! It is an order! -It is an order I cannot comply with. *Bloodthirsty howls in the distance* -Are you insane? They will rip you apart! -It is too late already. I will stand my ground *scuffling, and the sound of a single blade being drawn* -Markings on the hilt ...A.L? So you were really.. -And I will do as he did in his final moment - defend the only thing that matters to me. Now GO! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My eyes open.. I am aware that my wounds are grievous, and that I am alive is a.. wait. No breathing reflex.. and I am so cold.. yet, the numbing pain is still a reminder that I am, infact, not dead.. I stand up, and am hailed by a walking corpse like the ones I last remember fearing and hating.. but now, I can understand his guttural noises - He hands me a dagger, some clothes, and tells me to follow him to Undercity. My first instinct is to kill myself, but as the blade pierces my flesh I realize I am kept alive not by my own will and flesh, but by something stronger.. I let myself fall to the ground, and kneeling I utter one single word: "Whodan.." As I approach the royal chambers, I hear a conversation in the halls of the Dreadlord I was told to meet. They seem to talk about.. me? That I should be recruited into the Deathstalkers? Still later.. "A descendant of Lothar among my ranks? And worse, he was with Proudmoore? Bring me his head, and I will reward you beyond your wildest fantasies! His lifeline must not be allowed to continue even in undeath, he is too much of a danger to the Forsaken!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ((PART TWO)) The skies are dark over the Crossroads, and a chilly wind blows through. Shops are packing up for the night, even the wyvern master seems to feel the coldness of the air. However, he is lacking one of his beasts; someone apparently felt the need to fly to Orgrimmar - he looked like one of those Forsaken, if he remembers right. Scary type nonetheless. The wyvern handler stares up into the skies, waiting.. Orgrimmar. Even here, it is more quiet than usual, as dark clouds are gathering over the capitol of the Orcs. As I land in the Skytower, I feel hostility in the air.. They have perhaps found out who I am? ..No. That cannot be. My master has not unveiled his prescence, my body is well hidden behind my cloak. No.. it is just the weather that makes the mood so gloomy. Perfect. I step into the shadows, and sneak down into the Cleft of Shadow. I peer around for any followers, my hand close to my blade, ready to strike anything that spies on me. It is crucial to execute this in total secrecy- he is growing strong faster than my master expected. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hesuin." The voice is dark, almost impossibly dark for any living creature, and it has seducing under- and overtones. In other words, every functioning brain cell I have screams "Demon". I turn away from the pile of corpses I have recently created, and start scanning my surroundings for anything. From experience, I know that demons like to hide their prescence, making themselves effectively invisible save for a small shimmer in the air, however the extreme heat of the Ragefire Chasm makes this very hard to pick up. I reach down into my hip pocket and pull out a ruby red elixir, while my other hand slides down and unsheathes my mainhand sword slightly. "What do you want, demon?" I set the flask to my lips, and swallow one mouthful of the elixir. My eyes start tingling as abnormally much blood begins to flow to them, and my pupils pull together to resemble a cat's. Suddenly I see him. He is standing approximately twenty-five yards away, hooded and cloaked so it is nigh-impossible to see what he is. However, I instantly rule out the main types of demon a warlock would normally send after me - whatever this is, it has its own will. As he starts speaking again, I strain to retain control of my mind.. "You know why I am here, fool - He sent me." I snarl. "Varimathras is just a puppet. If he wants me, he can come in person." The demon laughs, and for the first time after my death I feel chills down my spine. "No... not Varimathras. Korzak. He has been looking for you, descendant of the Lothar, and I suggest you come visit him." I struggle to keep my cool. Korzak... The name seems strangely familiar, but I can't attach it to any recent memories or characters. The demon smiles - he has gotten the effect that he desired. I quickly draw my swords. "I don't know who you are, but if you want me, come and fight me." Again, the demon laughs - a sound of absolute coolness that seems to draw all the warmth out of the air. He lets his robe drop to the floor, and reveals a misty, transcendent frame that seems to absorb the light around it. The features behind are very difficult to comprehend. He unscheates a small sword - and to my surprise drops it to the floor. "I will not require this to kill you." "Hmph. We will see." With impossible speed, I sprint towards him, aiming my first strike at his abdomen. The move is one I have done hundreds of times before - a quick, decisive strike at his kidney area in order to immobilize him for a short period of time - and I pull it off flawlessly. However, my blades seem to do next to nothing to whatever his body is made of - what should have left a gaping wound now only scratches the surface. I cringe, as he finally starts moving... knowing this may very well mean the death of me. He does not use physical attacks against me. Instead he utters one single word. I try to move, but my body is locked in place and the only thing I can do is wait. "You are not worthy of effort. Begone for now, but know that I shall seek you when you prove a challenge. He knows you, Hesuin... he knows that you will join us." The pressure on my body increases, and the demon just walks away. The last thing I notice before I faint is my ribcage giving in to the pressure with a sickening *crack*. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I awake with a headache the size of a dragon; my memories of what happened the night before a blur. It seems to me that the most reasonable explanation is a massive hangover, and I make a mental note of never to let any troll challenge me to a drinking contest. However, as I try to stand up from the floor, I feel a sharp, stinging pain in my chest and it all rushes back to me. Making as little sound as possible I immediately check my vital body functions, silently thanking the doctor of Hammerfall for teaching me a certain degree of self-healing. It doesn’t look good. Five fractured ribs, one hamstring torn,a mild concussion and various cuts and bruises. Last but not least, both of my hands are crushed, so I can’t wield weapons. If I try to move too much one of the broken ribs might puncture one of my organs, effectively disrupting my ability to do anything for myself. Had I still been human, I would probably have been killed by the pressure extorted on my body. As it is now, I can barely walk, not to mention handle a sword… but I’m conscious, and as such able to get out of here. “Grub’lok! Go check that noise.” Not good. A Searing Blade warlock has noticed me. I go through the standard escape plans in my mind. Deception won’t work; the Searing Blade only take orcs into their ranks. Combat is impossible, and sprinting will most likely cause me to maim myself with the rib that is sticking out of my torso. I’ll have to let myself be captured for now until I’ve gotten some first aid.