The Northern Warbringer

An IC Blog of the player Thalvar of the Wrymrest Accord server in World of Warcraft

[kenslygarlunde]

The Next Morning

The morning sun blasted through the curtains of their bedroom window, but only one remained in bed. Kensly was up before daylight, tending to their four children as she always does. Their five month old twin sons are the first to wake and be fed this morning. She quickly changes their diapers and places them in their adorable matching clothing that is hand stitched by their own mother. They kick and squeal at Kensly as she makes faces and coos at them both while carrying them downstairs to place in on their tummies. “There we are, my handsome sons. A little tummy time for some exercise will have you crawling in no time.”

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[thewarbringer]

Araethius didn’t arise until an hour or two after his wife arose. The mid-morning sun shining right through the chink of their bedroom. He opened one eye, drowsily looking around the room, his eyes finally coming to rest on the empty space where his wife slept before turning back to the window, bringing up a hand to cover his freshly awaken eyes from the glare of the mid-morning sun.

 I overslept.

He slowly sat up in his bed, hands tentatively rubbing his eyes. He had almost completely forgot about his episode he had last night, but the longer he stayed awake the more details slowly came back to haunt him. The words in his head, the face in the mirror. He had hoped that sleep would erase the night’s horrors but sleep only delayed the issue, and morning only sought to clarify his problem.

He placed two bare feet on the wooden floorboards and arose slowly, yawning somewhat before brushing at his beard.

“I need to shave.” His voice was rough, gravelly almost from his still lingering half-wakefulness. He meandered his way into the bathroom and looked into the same mirror he had looked in only hours prior. He rubbed his face and turned on the faucet and began to wash his face, reaching for a brush and a set of scissors he slowly began to trim and cut down his unruly, one might even say unkempt beard back down to size. It mattered not if the trim was uneven, it needed to be shaved anyway.

All the while, the paladin’s thoughts still lingered endlessly around his mind about the events last night. He needed to speak to Kensly about it, but he knew she would be busy teaching Kayla, he would speak to her around lunchtime, but first perhaps, he would surprise her by trimming the beard down into a neat stubble.

That was easier said then done, before Araethius knew it half an hour had gone by just trimming and washing his former beard down into a neat stubble. As soon as he was done, and the bathroom was in a clean, almost near pristine condition Araethius felt comfortable to leave and head downstairs to join the rest of his family.

But first, he needed to change.

The last couple of days had involved Araethius arising and ‘hiding’ Noblegarden eggs around the yard for Kayla and Hazel to find. Of course, Araethius had actually hidden one particularly large egg which he remembered describing to Kayla and Hazel as ‘the big one’.  He personally painted the ‘The Big One’ in vibrant colours and patterns that were seperately distinct from the ‘average’ Noblegarden egg. He was, admittedly, proud of it. He bought a couple of large, ‘blank’ Noblegarden eggs and gave it to Kayla and Hazel to paint with their fingers and hands.

He smiled, it was a genuine smile. He really enjoyed Noblegarden and especially spending it with his children. He slid on a pair of long jeans and a black leather belt around his waist and headed downstairs, quietly creeping down the stairs. He knew that sometimes the stairs would creek and almost everyone in the manor would know that someone or something was going up or down the stairs. He stopped for a moment, catching eye of both of his sons lying out on their stomachs cooing and keeping each other company while Kensly’s dutiful handmaiden kept a strict, yet gentle watch over the boys. Over the weeks, he had a particular fondness for the shorter boy. No doubt he would be overshadowed by his sibling, but Araethius suspected that there was a hidden strength within his diminutive son that had yet to reveal itself. He rested his arms up against the railing of the stairs as he watched from a distance, taking a moment to quietly reflect. They make me proud. But I can’t make them proud. Before he could have finished that thought, a child’s cry, of whom he knew was Kayla’s echoed from the dining room and Araethius immediately turned to look. He set off towards the dining room, but not before saying hello to his boys. He assured the handmaiden he would be back before finally arriving at the dining room table to finally take witness of the chaos unfolding in the dining room. As he lingered in the doorway, he saw Hazel expertly fling her porridge like a skilled marksman straight into Kayla’s face and now likely all over her pretty frilly dress. He sighed. ”I saw that, young lady.” his voice was soft, like the eye of a storm bearing dangerous, punishment-bearing winds. He turned to Kensly, smiling wearily at her before reaching for a napkin to clean Kayla’s face. He cooed at Kayla softly before gently dabbing and scooping up the porridge from her face and dress. He kissed Kayla’s cheek. “See? All better now.” Kayla had calmed down enough to be reasonable, but still sniffled and huffed at Hazel, glaring back at Hazel, if not for her father now here, she would have very much flung her food back at her sister. Of course, for Hazel, her father’s voice carried considerable weight for her. Hazel immediately ceased from throwing more food at her sister, much less even looking at her, just knowing that she had been seen by her father was enough to spook her and the threat of punishment made her nervous to say the least. Hazel look tentatively towards her mother to bail her out, but not before her gaze was seized by her father’s gaze. She looked away from her father, as Araethius expected. He looked to Kensly. Some sort of punishment was in order, so he decided to jog Hazel’s memory. ”Do I need to take your teddy bear away, Hazel? What do you think, Mom?”

@kenslydawnforge

@ludlowvineyards

[the-little-chef-deactivated2017]

100 Days of Character Development

How would you describe your childhood in general? 

————————————————————————————–

“Betheyn Davis! You get your butt in this house right now! It’s getting dark, and you have chores to finish!” Her mother’s voice carried out over the vast fields that surrounded their small family farm. At seven years old, Beth was pronto spending hours just running through the cornfields, picking little flowers she came across, daisies had always been her favorite. 

As she walked closer to the house, the sound of her brothers and father talking near the barn reached her ears, going over tasks for the following day. It was almost time to harvest their crops, Beth was never allowed to help. Ducking behind the massive oak tree, she peeked her head around it while biting into one of the apples she had found nearby. 

Her short blonde curls clung to her face, while the rest of it was tied back into a braid, her dress was torn in a few places, dirt covered her knees and hands. She knew that she would get an ear full from her mother, maybe even a spanking. But Beth never minded. Her childhood had always been filled with fond memories, laughter filled their house at night. The scent of her mother’s homemade apple, blueberry and peach pies filled the night. 

The sound of crickets always brought a peace to the land, the summer nights filled with cookouts, catching fireflies, eating smores. Her father told stories of grand magi, brave and powerful Knight’s. He was the hardest worker she knew, he never complained, even though she could tell he was tired. Her mother always has the softest hands, despite the hours she spent cooking and cleaning their small farmhouse. Each night she would read a story to Beth, as she lay tucked in the warmth and safety of her bed. 

A single candle lit on the table beside her bed, enjoying the voices her mother always used when reading her favorite book, *The LIttle Pig Who Could*. Then her mother would kiss her forehead and tuck the covers around her. And she would drift off to sleep with thoughts of what dreams she would have that night. Would she be a princess? Or a brave Knight?!. 

[thewarbringer]

((Oooh! Boost!!)

[araethius]

Homefront

Araethius gaze was firmly fixed upwards at the lone blue orb in the sea of thick, noxious emerald clouds. His hair was matted with sweat, his mind clear of doubt and worry. He could see the swirling clouds around the Maelstrom, the storms that battered Kalimdor and the sunny weather over the Eastern Kingdoms. In that moment, he seemed so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

Every time I look up in the sky and I see Azeroth I am reminded of the things I left behind and the things I have left to look forward too. I know she looks up at this emerald star and wonders if I am looking back at her. Seperated by thousands of miles by a sea of nothing I still feel as if she is here, right by my side, as she always was.

His voice was but a quiet whisper, introspective of all the things that have happened. He turned his attention to his side. The faint silhouette of his wife’s figure came into being. Was he hallucinating? Kensly’s silhouette stared unerringly at Araethius, as if she was looking right through him. His eyes glazed over for a moment, possessed by a need to caress her face. His gauntleted hand reached out to cradle the apparition’s face before it faded away, The apparition mumbled something to him, her lips moving, but no words would come out, tears fell from her face but he could not console them. He asked what was wrong, but she would not listen as she fell away into nothingness, just how she had appeared. 

Araethius awoke, shooting up out of his makeshift bed and almost fell on the floor in a panic. He clutched his head, sweat dripping down from his forehead after he had woke from his nightmare. It would not be long before he had to wake for certain. Everyone had been asleep before a voice called out to him.

“You said her name again. You mumbled it in your asleep again and again before you finally stopped.”

Araethius immediately got up at the sound of the voice, he was a bit too shaken up to be embarassed by his sleep murmurings. He looked around, looking for the source of the voice in the dark.

“I need to write her a letter.” Araethius mumbled to himself before stumbling out towards a desk to sit down. The voice had fallen silent, presumably its owner having fallen back to bed.  Araethius had lit the wick of the candle sitting at his desk, fetching parchment and a fresh inkwell he began to write.

My beloved Kensly,

It’ll be 28 weeks, maybe 29 weeks when this letter finally gets to you. You haven’t left my mind since I left the estate grounds. None of you have.

I wish I could tell you all the things I have seen, all the things that have happened, but I can’t, I just want you to know–

Araethius paused, his pen still in his hand, trembling slightly as he remembered more of his nightmare, he begun to write once again.

–that every time I look up in the sky and I see Azeroth I am reminded of the things I left behind and the things I have left to look forward too. I know you look up at this emerald star and wonder if I am looking back at you. Even though I am seperated by thousands of miles of nothingness I still feel as if you are right, by my side, as you always are.

In this bleak place, my love for you and for our children  will always shine the brightest. It gives me the conviction to do what I must to ensure that we make it home.

You gave me the strength to do things that I was never able to do on my own, and I will forever be thankful for the opportunities you gave me, as a father, as a husband and as a man.

Tell Kayla and Hazel that Daddy misses them so very much and he can’t wait to play all the games he’s missed out on. I miss their smiles and their laugher more than anything in the world. Wait for me.

Yours eternally,

Araethius.

Araethius placed the pen down, before dipping his finger in the inkwell and pressing his fingerprint down past his name.  He fetched a clean envelope and sealed the letter with wax seal ‘D’ to make sure that she knew it was coming directly from him.

With the sealed letter in hand, Araethius hounded after one of the bustling couriers and handed the letter as soon as he left the tent he was sleeping in.

“To Azeroth.”

The courier simply nodded his head and placed the letter his the bag around his waist and took off, his legs carrying him as fast as they would take him.

@kenslydawnforge

@ludlowvineyards

@elizebella

((This was a joy to write up. I hope you guys enjoy it!))

[thewarbringer]

((Shameless bump of my paladin))

[the-little-chef-deactivated2017]

Beer Braised Boar Ribs -Brewfest Week!-

In honor of Brewfest,  I will be posting daily posts about food dishes that go with the theme of Brewfest. Today, we will be doing Beer Braised Boar Ribs!

Beer Braised Boar Ribs

Ingredients

One 3-pound rack of pork spareribs, or boar ribs, if available

Salt and pepper, to taste

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 shallots, diced

1 clove garlic, minced

2 teaspoons red curry paste

1 cup ketchup

1 bottle beer (Rhapsody Malt is best, but substitute in a pinch. The less hoppy, the better.)

2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

2 tablespoons molasses

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

Directions

Preheat the oven to 275°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil and set a rack over top. Place the ribs on this rack, meaty side up, and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Place in the oven to start slow-cooking.

Place a saucepot over medium heat and add the oil, shallots, and garlic. Cook until the shallots are soft and the garlic is fragrant, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in the curry paste to coat the shallots and garlic, then add the remaining ingredients. Cook for 20 to 30 minutes, stirring occasionally until the mixture has reduced to a semi-thick sauce. For a smoother sauce, blend the mixture with a submersible blender until no pieces of shallot or garlic remain.

The ribs will slow cook for about 3 hours. Baste with the sauce every 20 to 30 minutes or so (cover the underside a few times, too) until you’ve got a nice thick layer of tangy delicious sauce. Allow cooling slightly after cooking, and enjoy.

Tips from the Chef

1 bottle of beer is generally 12 ounces (or around 350 ml)

If you would like to use an alternative to beer, try chicken stock with a ½ teaspoon of liquid smoke for a different flavor.

[captzexx]

((Boost))

[thewarbringer]

((That looks delicious, saved and boost))

[elizebella]

Breaking Point

The morning came and went at the Ludlow Manor. Afternoon was upon Lady Ludlow and she was taking her time getting ready for the last Manic Monday of the month. The winery was a place she did not frequent often anymore and she wanted to be a part of at least one of the sale days during the month of June. However, so much had happened since the robbery of the winery, the rebuilding, and other chaotic odds and ends, the woman was exhausted beyond what she should be in her condition. Still, she put on her happy face, though this day it bore dark circles under the eyes. She dressed in her best and made sure she arrived early for the event. She wanted to make sure all was perfect for those that had procrastinated to the very last day to take advantage of the sale. Upon reaching the shop, a half an hour early, she stood at the planters and plucked away a couple of weeds. She smiled at the lovely flowers that bloomed; it was Amelia’s fine handy work of course and she knew it. A voice nearly startled the vintner, “Excuse me, Miss?” Elizebella turned to the blonde haired woman and offered a smile, “Good afternoon, Madam. Is there something I may help you with? If you are here for the wine sale, it begins in about thirty minutes.” Elizebella turned to face the woman, clasping her hands in front of her swollen abdomen. The woman looked to the redhead, noting that she was with child and smiled as she panned her eyes upward again, “I was reading the flyer for the winery sale and I thought to ask if the shop may be in need of employees? I am knew to the city and I am seeking employment. I am capable of handling most tasks given to me and I learn quickly.”, the blonde haired woman paused with curious eyes, allowing Elizebella to speak up. The redhead smiled politely and inhaled a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but then paused, exhaling through her nose instead. She glanced inside the winery to see that it was still in fact fully staffed and then thought how she truly was not hurting for anymore personal assistance. 

Elizebella hummed in thought and brought her fingertip to tap at her lips, returning her gaze to the woman, “I am not currently needing to hire anyone for a permanant position, as much as I would like to hire you. However, I know someone that may be interested. I am not certain if she has filled the position yet, but I will give you her name. I suggest you send her a letter, as I’m not certain how she will feel about someone showing up unannounced.” The blonde haired woman nodded, “Thank you.” Elizebella reached into her small satchel and retrieved a piece of paper and pencil. She began to write down the name, “Lady Venreena Holt, is the name. She was looking for an assistant of sorts last I heard.” She folded the paper once writing down the proper information and handed it to the woman. “What is your name, Madam?”, Elizebella asked with her brow furrowed in question. “Oh, pardon me. My name is Scarlett Norwood.”, the woman offered. Elizebella smiled and offered a polite nod in greeting as she introduced herself, “Lady Elizebella Ludlow, proprietor of Ludlow Vineyards; pleasure to meet you.” The vintner returned her pencil and small notepad to her satchel and closed it up tightly, turning her amber hues upward once again, “I do wish you luck and if you truly are unable to find work, I’m certain I could find something temporary for you to do until you can find something more permanant.”  Scarlett smiled and bowed to Elizebella, “Thank you, Lady Ludlow. I appreciate your help.” Elizebella smiled with a single nod, “You’re most welcome. Do have a lovely rest of your day.” The young woman bowed her head once more and went about her way. 

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[thewarbringer]

A Vessel for War

“In all my years, I have never seen a man dedicate so much of his life to the art of war - what gruesome pictures of battlefields and towns you must have made and will continue to make.”

The raggedy old man looked at Thalvar with an ire of curiosity in his slate grey eyes, his long, alabaster white hair thinning and almost sickly in appearance, He was seated opposite of Thalvar, sitting up on a cobblestone ledge looking down at the armored juggernaut with a toothless smile tugging at his lips. The same curiosity burning behind those beady, slate grey eyes. The old man stood to his feet, his gaunt and grotesque body covered by a simple linen tunic. He extended a hand towards,palm-side up as he slowly, shakily uncurled his fingers to reveal a single golden ring sitting daintily in the middle of his pale, shaky palm. The golden ring did not seem perturbed by the lack of stability of the old man’s palm

“You see.” he begun, his voice quiet and melancholic as his slate grey eyes regarded the dull, golden ring with a somber, almost ancestral gaze. His eyes reluctantly tore away to look upon the juggernaut with a jaded expression, a hidden anger building up behind his eyes as his mouth threatened to twitch into a scowl. “My wife was a lot like you. Brash, headstrong, reckless. But I loved her like any husband would. She was a master of blades and a master of blades and conflict. She would constantly go and around and try and fight the larger and bigger male soldiers in her military regiment, and usually she would alwys end up making an ass of the other guy who tried to fight her. Every time she lost, she’d always work on improving her physique, or her stance, or how she swings that awfully heavy sword of hers.” A hoarse laugh dared escape from the old man’s dry throat. It appears he was going off into a tanget as he stared into the the trees for a couple of brief, almost fleeting moments before looking back to the warrior. “She ended up going to the Northrend campaign, determined to prove herself to her commanding officers that she was worthy of a promotion. She’d constantly train late into the night, determined as if even to prove to herself that she had the worth, and the strength to become a commanding officer - to be someone important. She was deployed to Borean Tundra at the start of the Northrend counter-offensive.” He paused for a moment and looked back to the dull, golden ring in the middle of his shakily palm. His gaunt fingers now curled protectively around the ring, his hand moving to a pocket of his tunic. “Well, she ended up dying a warrior’s death - alone, and in agonizing pain. I could only imagine how dire her last thoughts would of been when her life was snuffed out before her own eyes.” His voice still had that somber, melancholic tone to it. As if he had been defeated by the death of his own wife - a shadow of his former, much more boisterous self.

“I am sorry to hear that. Your wife must've of been a wonderful woman to have at your side.”

 “Aye, that she was. A truly beautiful woman. I had only wished that I was strong enough to be at her side during her last moments. But, that is all in the past and I have  moved on from my wife’s death.” His slate grey eyes gazed at the younger male, as would a father do to a son. “Women tend to change your perspective on life - everything slowly starts to revolve around keeping them safe and secure - to make sure that she is provided and looked after. The life of a soldier and the life of a married man or woman simply does not gel  well. Either your both soldiers, or you have to stop fighting.”

“You shouldn’t have to change for anyone or anything. Change should be the primary motive of yourself, and only yourself. You should be able to dictate the course of your own life. I do not need to lay down my blade for any woman or man simply because I may not be around tomorrow. We all run that risk of dying, or not being here tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes. IYou speak the truth, but sometimes in order to preserve a marriage you need to be able to make sacrifices - and laying down your arms is one of those sacrifices you will eventually have to make, especially if you have children of your own.”

“Wives, children. My death will only serve to further their own aspirations in life. They will know that their father, that her husband died to protect them from the ravages of an evil, foreign force that only wishes them destruction.” Thalvar paused for a moment and stood to his feet, his tall, bulky stature easily dwarfing the hunched over man.

“I am a vessel for war, nothing more,nothing less.”

@phoenixadmiral

@trevaleyn

@etherealsplendor

@verlai-devereaux

[thewarbringer]

Regard your soldiers as you would your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valley. Look upon them as you would your own beloved sons and they will stand by you even unto death.

Sun Tzu The Art of War

[thewarbringer]

Out of Frying Pan and into the Fire

The first test?

Thalvar held up the piece of parchment up to the candlelight so that he would be able to easily read the stenciled letters written so lifelessly written on the page. He didn’t know who wrote the letter out to him. It must be someone close to him, or at least someone who had been on his trail for the last couple of months. He read the most important snippet of the letter, his icy blue hues skim reading the context behind it; but more importantly the instruct

We require someone of noble birth to attend a dinner with us at Dalaran Sewers.

“A dinner?”

It can’t possibly be that hard to find someone of noble birth that would attend a dinner, but at Dalaran Sewers? A noble would be foolish as if to accompany him to such a backwater place without a procession of guards behind him or her. He’ll have to try his best.

“Well, time to go swindle a noble.”

“Maybe I’ll bring a Holt..”

He laughs like an idiot and waves a dismissive hand off to himself as the fleeting idea died in the recess of his logical mind.

“With half the city of Stormwind of noble birth, it shouldn’t be hard to lure one to Dalaran Sewers.”

“You should of chose an harder test, whoever you are.”

His gaze now skyward to the ceiling of his cottage, before he made the last few steps to his bed and crashed upon it, his head hitting the pillow like a rock and he was out like a light.

“After my nap, of course.”

[ @phoenixadmiral ]

[thewarbringer]

Blood and Iron

The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue, reminding me after so long what it felt like to bleed. Rosh’gar is running ahead of me, kicking up freshly fallen snow as he desperately tried not to sink in the snow, or at the very least fall over. The fear has given me a strange, unique perspective. We’re running for our lives.

I can hear the shrieks of my brothers as they fall in combat, their lives cut short and the sickening thud of their bodies hit the rough, dusty ground of the Barrens. Rosh’gar and I slam pinned up against a worg pit, huddling underneath one of the barriers. Rosh’gar shouts at me and I give him a dumb look. I can’t hear him shout, the sounds of war, anything, only the muffled throb of terror in the back of my head. I turn away from Rosh’gar and look over the barrier of the pen and I see him, that hulking armored mass, glinting like steel and fresh blood. The contours of his armor lights up, a strange ancient magic permeates the air with it’s strength. Runes that I have never seen light up on the warrior’s legs and arms when I’m suddenly assaulted with the sounds by the sounds of an erupting battle - several of my orcish brethren have engaged the warrior.

They cannot stop him.

The warrior surges forward, as if he was expecting such a confrontation with the Horde’s best soldiers and leaves only a crimson mist of blood and gore as he surges straight past our warriors, leaving only bodies collapsing in a bloody, mangled mess.

I’m a statue, a cornered animal. A gate opens inside me and recognition floods in. I have seen this monster before. I have tortured him, killed his brothers and eviscerated those he cared about. I have given him pain and measured his response, reveling in the cries of his agony. But I have never seen this beast so close, without the protection of guards and heavy iron chains.

I have never seen him.. free.

Knowing that I will die, I just watch him with a curious acceptance. The warrior squats down, picking at the remains of my fallen brothers, as would a carrion bird would do after witnessing a fresh kill, looking for a good meal. He is watching me, the amber sparks of his horned helmet trained and fixated onto my own eyes, a sense of recognition, an ancestral memory.

He knows who I am. What I have done.

He rears up like a bear and lets out a blood-curdling battle cry, echoing off the hot plains of the Barrens. I plant my hands around my ears as I cinch my eyes close. I take my hands off my ears and sound slowly returns to me. I can hear him lumbering towards me, metal armor jingling and grinding with his crazed movements, but I refuse to open my eyes, knowing that I will die.

I stand ready to pay.

@verlai-devereaux

@phoenixadmiral

@trevaleyn

[huntress-verlai]

The Shift

She’d saved his life tonight, fate having set things in motion; the dinner being held in just the right location, her father’s speech being completed at just the right time. She’d heard the panicked words float through her mind as she took off in search of him, only to find him surrounded by bodies, but no longer able to fight back. At an opportune time, two black painted arrows to the back of the Orc’s skull had brought the beast to his knees. 

The way his arms wrapped around her, the desperation and the gratitude that was felt, the quiet words he’d spoken… The combination shifted something inside of her. The fear that shot through her was barely controlled as she held tightly to him in return. 

They left the massacre together, hand in hand, making their way towards the small camp he’d set up. Questions of ‘what if’ raced through her mind, though she finally forced herself to rid herself of them. He was fine. He was right here with her, holding her tightly as she listened to the beat of his heart. 

She shared herself, holding nothing back like she normally did. He wouldn’t let her. Instead, he kept pushing, kept prodding for answers in that deep baritone purr of his, and she found that despite her struggle, the broken words that would tumble past her lips, she -wanted- him to know. Everything. 

And so she showed him without the use of words, letting him know exactly who she was, fully expecting him to turn away. Instead, his arms tightened around her, his lips finding hers in an exchange that was so much more than physical. He’d fallen into her trap by trying to avoid it, though he wasn’t the only one. She was just as much gone as he was, and actually took comfort in that fact as she drifted to sleep, her body curled against his, his embrace protective and safe.

@thewarbringer

[huntress-verlai]

He fell into her trap by trying to avoid it.

The Warbringer (via verlai-devereaux)

[thewarbringer]

Harbinger of War

“Our will is iron; we will be conquerors. Your head.. will soon be on a pike, Warbringer.” the bloodied brown orc hissed out. A sturdy steel boot to his neck. His fierce amber eyes staring at the iron maw of the Warbinger’s helmet.  The glaring sun was overhead on the vast plains of Nagrand. “War you have wrought out over us; but we will never bow to a pinkskin like you. Small, weak, pathetic. I wil-”

Crack.

The orc‘s head rolled back into the soft mud, his fierce amber eyes rolling to the back of his head as he laid lifeless on the ground. The Warbringer withdrew his bloody boot from the orc’s broken and twisted neck. He turned around to oversee the devastation that he had wrought out upon this Iron Horde camp. Men, elves, orcs and even draenei laid lifeless in the crimson-stained earth of Nagrand, the ground eagerly lapping up the blood of the victims of this cruel, almost Pyrrhic victory. Their mangled and bloody corpses littering the ground. The flies have already propagated their offspring, burying deep into the flesh of both men and orc; in death, they are all the same; food.

The smell of decaying flesh assaulted the Warbringer’s nostrils; a regrettably familiar smell. The putrid smell and the horrific sight of watching flesh waste away and been picked apart by carrion birds, gouging out eyeballs and consuming large quantities of flesh as the birds gorged themselves on the feast that War had provided for them. They would feed their young with flesh from men the Warbringer knew and thus the circle of life would continue, despite the atoricity within atrocities that is war.

“You see this, great pink warrior? This is what we live for. A glorious death on the battlefield.” The Warbringer turned to look up and  see this hulking, blood-splatted orc. His furnace like appearance indicating that this orc was no pushover as he was equipped in full Blackrock armor, his bloody iron bulwark faced towards the Warbringer.  His eyes like burning embers.

“You have slaughtered all my brothers.”

“As you did mine.”

“It is just us two left; warrior, there is only one thing we must do.”

“It’s time to finish what we both started.”

The hulking behemoth of a warrior let out a blood-curdling battle cry as he surged forward like a rabid beast, the fiery eyes of the orc’s helmet fixated on the Warbringer, his heavy iron bulwark swinging wildly through the air as he attempted to sink the spikes of his shield into the Warbringer’s armor.

He was too slow.

The orc missed his target completely, the Warbringer having ducked completely underneath the massive shield to plunge his greatsword, his hand gripped on the bottom of his blade as he plunged it straight through the orc’s chest as hard as he could, piercing through Blackrock steel, leather and flesh. The Orc made no sound as the blade rend and tore at his flesh, the air being forced all out of his lung. He drew one final gasp for air to speak to the Warbringer.

“Lok’tar..”

“Ogar.”

“Victory..”

“Or death.”

The warbringer grunted as he curled his hands tight around the handle of his weapon, withdrawing the now bloodied blade from the orc’s chest, the behemoth of an orc collapsing into a bloody heap, the ground drinking in the dead orc’s blood. The Warbringer sighed and sheathed his greatsword upon his back. He looked to the sun, a bloody gauntlet held up to protect his eyes from the glare of the sun. ”A warrior through and through.”

[thewarbringer]

Love, War and Sorrow

He had loved once.

He had lost once.

He resolved to not do again.

If he could help it.

He had become an instrument of war; uncaring, unfeeling, all that drove him was war. The thrill of battle, the lust to kill another man in honorable combat. To drive back the enemies that threaten his safety and the safety of those he cares about.

Of those he cares about.

The company - his family and those he surrounded himself. They were allies in this life that he could not do without, and that he has and will demonstrate his unwavering loyalty to the company, to the Den Mother, to anyone who seeks the company of the Warbringer.

He had been placing himself on the front lines, in the fray of battle time after time, taking little consideration of what it meant if he was to lose his life in combat. Death was a fulfillment to him, not an end. He had little fear of death; knowing that when the time comes to pass onto the next world that he would do so with a glad heart.

Or so he thought.

There was something keep him here, something that made him afraid of passing away; something that wouldn’t make him fulfilled if passed away suddenly. It tugged away the conscience of his mind. If he died, he wouldn’t be fulfilled and his death would be shallow; a death not worth taking.

Was it her?

Memories raced through the Warbringer’s mind as he sat down on his straw mattress in his one-room dilapidated wooden shack, tucked away in the verdant green foothills of Elwynn Forest. The night was waning and dawn would soon peak up over the high mountains that nestled the forest away; it was a serene part of Azeroth away from the turmoils of war and squabbling factions, it was a bastion of human power. It was the very pinnacle of human civilization, through five great wars humanity had been persistently conquering, being tenacious and never bending the knee to extinction.  The thought bought a smile to tug at the warrior’s lips as he sat in his wooden shack, bathed in darkness waiting for the dawn to come.

It was her.

The way she eagerly looked at him, the way her arms fit around her neck, the way the fiddled with his hair when they were close. What they spoke about when the sun was setting over lake, their legs dangling over the edge of Stormwind Keep as they gazed at the setting sun.

It was good. Wasn’t it?

The Warbringer was violently ripped out of his dream as the wind buffeted against his shanty wooden shack, threatening to blow it over as it rustled the leaves of the great oak trees shielding the shack from the spring rains that come to the forest from time to time. The shack groaned and the walls creaked and wind whistled through the gaps between the wooden boards. He sighed, the wind having not knocked his shanty shack over, sparing him a miserable night out in the cold.  But even after all he had today. He still felt empty.

Alone.

All he truly had was his shack, his enduring piece of architecture built by lumberjacks long ago. Once built for drying cut wood was now his home. His place of solitude at the end of the day. One day he would move out of this shack, and perhaps into somewhere a little nicer. Maybe a proper house, a man can dream can’t he? His weapons and armor get replaced from time to time, but his shack had always been there for him, regardless of the circumstances of how he came home.

It felt nice to hold her in his arms.

Lifetimes could go by, and he would never experience another moment like that.

A smile tugged at his lips tired lips, a knowing smile.

It was a moment he was glad to be alive for.

“Death isn’t as fulfilling as I thought.”

@phoenixadmiral

@verlai-devereaux

[thewarbringer]

Man is the only animal that deals in that atrocity of atrocities, War. He is the only one that gathers his brethren about him and goes forth in cold blood and calm pulse to exterminate his kind. He is the only animal that for sordid wages will march out... and help to slaughter strangers of his own species who have done him no harm and with whom he has no quarrel.... And in the intervals between campaigns he washes the blood off his hands and works for "the universal brotherhood of man" — with his mouth

Mark Twain

[thewarbringer]

Shattered and Broken

Defeated.

Utterly defeated.

There were no more words than that to describe the Warbringer’s defeat at the hands of Verlai. His pride, much like hers had been broken and wounded and now he made the lonely journey through the gloomy forests of Duskwood back to his dilapidated shacks in the wood. She knocked him out in two vicious blows to the hand, shattering his cheekbone and eye socket and the second blow shattering his nose. She got what she wanted out of the night. The battle was already set before him and the outcome already decided by fate. He knew, deep down in his heart that he would lose this fight. The taunts of the crowd echoed in his mind, replaying the events of that fateful fight over and over inside his mind, threatening to drive the warrior mad. His heavy iron warboots thudded along the dark, mossy cobblestone path as he trudged away back into Elwynn Forest. His ironclad form barely visible under the dark, consuming shade of the trees, the moonlight refusing to light the path before him and he had to rely on the intermittent pass of a random firefly or a watcher who happened to be walking the same path he had.

In darkness he found solitude and in solitude he found only loneliness. But he needed this. There had to be a point where he would have to lose; to get a reality heck and deflate his own ego once again. Every defeat did this to him, and no matter how many times he would lose he still always felt this way. His pride was always wounded and then would be rebuilt with a couple of victories and torn down again by an utterly soul-crushing defeat such as this one he suffered tonight.

But, he can take heart; his life was not taken and now he has the chance to learn from this battle and adapt its teachings to his combat style to prevent another humiliating loss such as this one from ever occurring again.

A smile slowly crossed his face once again, a sad smile.His head was down towards his boots as he walked, as he kept trudging along in that heavy iron armor of his.The grinding of plate and the jingling of chain-mail underneath adding to chorus of owl hoots and bat screeching. He couldn’t understand why people would ever live in such a gloomy and depressing place such as Duskwood but he nonetheless understood it. Only the brave, the mad and foolish dare tread on these paths.

Even though he didn’t see it, the smile, that gloating smirk plastered all over her lips after she defeated him stoke the fire in his heart; but he knew, his logical side knew, that this was fate; and now the cosmological balance of thee universe was restored. He was never meant to have a one-up on anyone he knew; the universe sought balance and balance was restored to it on this fateful night.

He finally made it out of Duskwood, crossing the river into Elwynn Forest, a very familiar territory to him and made his way back to his shack tucked away in the hills of the forest.

Ever since stepping off the boat back from the Northrend campaigns he didn’t own much; he was a poor man, only owning a set of armor or two and all of the money he earned from doing odd jobs around the place only went to feed himself or maintain his armor. By all rights, he was homeless but worked a full-time job. All he had was his sword and his armor, those were the only things he took back from Northrend. The only two things that stayed by his side and that served him throughout all of the battles he had participated in over the course of being a part of the Grand Alliance.

These thoughts, the thoughts of his hidden past dominated the rhetoric of his mind as he trudged back into the shack, the familiar hole in the roof and the moon light finally revealing the contours of the warrior, the first little bit of light he’s seen since emerging from the the shadows of Duskwood. He looked at the red punching bag he had set up the night before, hanging lifelessly as he moved to deliver a plated punch straight into the side of the punching bag. The bag wobbled and threatened to bring down the whole shack on top of him as the rafter it was hung on groaned loudly.

He sat down on a piece of old hardwood on the floor of his shack and clutched his head in his hands. That migraine from being knocked out still pounding in his head with every beat of his heart.

“In a world of magic and shadow-weavers. Where mere mortals can summon great balls of consuming fire, where demons the size of mountains roam the land devouring the bodies and souls of those they torture and kill, where the living dead walk among the living and clerics with the power to bring the dead back to life walk among the commoners, I am the one who sticks out the most.”

His deep, sorrowful voice echoed off the decaying wooden boards that made up the four walls of his tiny one room shack. The wood would be the only one listening to his sad little monologue, for his words have no ears on which to rest on.

“I have the raw power to stand against people like them with nothing but sword and board and face them down in combat. My resolve undying. I am a wall, unwavering. Other flock to the Light, or the darkness and shadows for their comfort, but I have none who comfort me. My strength is drawn from my steel. I face down my enemy knowing that I have no other alternative, no magic to save my life, no hidden tricks, my motives are laid bare before my enemy; I am here to fight and or die for the things I believe in.”

He paused. Was he really all that fearless? Is anyone all that fearless, that valorous to say that they are not scared of losing their own life? He gritted his teeth; all living things are afraid of the unknown, and death is something unknown to the Warbringer. He had ‘died’ once before, but he was quickly resuscitated and never got the sweet release of death; a warrior deaththat he had deserved.

“I cannot claim to have no envy for the people who use the magic of this world and I cannot chastise them for doing so. It is theirs for the taking, for anyone who wants that edge over someone else, that trick, that ace up their sleeve to dominate and humiliate their foes. I have no such tricks, all my motives and tools are laid bare to anyone, friend or foe. They know what I am and what I excel at doing and they will use anything to try and stop me from doing that.”

He paused, lifting his head up to gaze at the moon. A smile crossing his lips.

“My strength is pure; coming in from the very depths of my soul. All the strength I could ever want is within me and it is up to me grasp it, to use it as a weapon and a tool against my foes.”

“That is why, in the end, I will be fulfilled no matter what the outcome of my battles are; because I know I gave my all in everything that I do.”

“A warrior, through and through”

@verlai-devereaux​

[thewarbringer]

Warfighter

A clear night sky was all the weather had to offer as the Warbringer trudges out the city gates and onto the mossy, cobblestone paths of Elwynn Forest, the moon’s glare blocked and filtered by the great oak trees that lined the path. In full plate gear, he trudged along the entire length of the forest, avoiding the suspicious stares of the late-night forest patrols.

A cool wind blew through the trees as the Warbringer took a sudden left out into the forest. His ironclad gaze settling upon a shack built by lumberjacks who had abandoned the area due to the abundance of ravenous, grey wolves. No wolves bothered the Warbringer as he approached the entrance of the shack. It was run-down, the roof was half-caved in from decay allowing the moon light to illuminate the warrior’s footsteps into the dirty old shack.

“Finally”

He sighed, taking off his helmet at long last. Raven black hair fell out of his helmet down to his neck height. Piercing blue eyes now replaced the amber sparks of his spiked helmet. High cheekbones and an angular jawline came into view, cloaked by an envious amount of facial hair covering the Warbringer’s face. A true rugged warrior through and through. He looked down to the floor to find his punching bag that he had left the night before lying down on the ground the previous night. He began to undo his his plate gauntlets, untying the various straps and clasps that kept the engraved steel gauntlets clung tightly to the pale flesh below. Next, he begun to work on to work on his chestplate, his thick, sausage-like digits working away at that tight straps that kept his musclebound chest hidden under a layer of thick steel. The chestplate fell to the ground with a heavy thud as the Warbringer finally rolled his stocky, pale shoulders. He looked down at his scarred body. Wide, D-shaped pectoral muscles define the warrior’s upper-frame. A lack of subcutaneous fat made his definition all the more prominent. His core was defined by his large abdominal muscles bulging underneath his pale, scarred skin. His piercing blue hues settled upon the tattoo that Nissa gave him the day he became a conqueror.

A smile crossed his lips. A conqueror. That’s what he’ll be. He picked up the heavy, sand-filled punching bag and hung it upon the least damaged rafter of the shack. The roof groaned as it threatened to collapse underneath the weight of the punching bag, but the shack roof endured and quietened. 

The Warbringer looked at the punching bag. The red, cylindrical, object he had purchased on a whim one late night four months ago and now his constant companion through all of his ordeals. Something to let the stress and anger out at the rest at the end of the day.  He reeled his hand back and delivered a vicious blow straight in the center of the punching bag. The force of the blow causing the sand in the bag to compact suddenly and the bag to move violently in the opposite direction of his punch. He stopped before delivering his second punch to the unfortunate punching bag, rethinking the day’s events.

“Verlai.”

That woman. That engima. Her face flashed through his troubled mind as he contemplated what she told him. It was all vague now. He couldn’t remember what she told him, only her face. It seemed the only thing he was good at was remembering faces and fighting. He could remember the fight with her, the way she refused his help. She was stubborn, like James told him. But to refuse help when it’s offered t you is madness. It wasn’t a concept that he could understand. He delivered a second punch straight into the punching bag, gritting his teeth once again as he poured his anger into the blow.

“She didn’t give me a true fight. She gave me a mockery of one. She wasn’t trying her hardest in the fight, that’s why she lost. Her pride made her hold back against me, and I can’t stand that.”

Before he could deliver a third punch into the punching bag he stopped, his hands still clenched into waiting fists ready to be thrown at any given moment as he glared at the punching bag.

“I am surrounded by women who could chew me up and spit me back out again, they know how to use a man, they know how to break them in and wield them as they would a weapon, to make them fight for them, to die for them.  They are master manipulators; sharks waiting for the kill, enjoying every moment of their prey’s demise.”

He sighed. Verlai was one of them. She warned him of her capabilities and how she broke other partners she was with. He was determined to not let that happen to him and for that he needed to tread carefully around her, preserve his own strength of will, his independence irrespective of what others want from him, especially women. He’d have to learn to deny a mindset developed by thousands of years of evolutionary progress in order to compete with these women and come out on top.

Another face entered his mind. Lucia. He had seen her face only once. But even she was still an enigma within an enigma. She was alluring in that regard, mystery seems to draw curiosity and curiosity leads to death. He was determined to persevere and prove his strength and resolve.

“I am free. My loyalty is ultimately to myself and I will fiercely defend that. I am no slave, not to my emotions, not to anyone. If they want strength, I’ll show them -strength-”

  [ @phoenixadmiral ]

 [ @verlai-devereaux ]