10-31-2005, 06:40 PM
The cool wind blew softly across the wide plains of Mulgore, the lapping water and high mountain surroundings made the land look peaceful and golden. Many times before was such a spectacle witnessed but nevertheless, every morning, it was a grand sight indeed, and one who lived in the plains for years past could not help but stop and stare at the spectacle. When such a marvelous sight came to be, one would think the heavens descended upon the land and that life itself had come to a peaceful end. Beauty struck to those even with vile hearts as the flourescent green and gold plains swayed in the morning breeze. One can only imagine if there is a more beautiful place set upon the lands of Azeroth. Creatures of the plains roamed free and carelessly as the vegetation spread as far and wide as the elven eye could see. Lush, rolling hills full of that life which had once seeped through the Barrens and the rest of Kalimdor now breathes it's deep and rich past into the soil of which the Tauren reside. If one place was truly the marvel of the world, if one place was truly the heaven placed upon Azeroth, a place where no human chiseled statue and no elven mistresses beauty could be outdone, it would be Mulgore, the lands of sweet life. The land of beauty, the land of heaven, the land of the past. Mulgore, the land of Golden Paradise.
Jarrick awoke to a bright sky and a melody of nearby birds chirping in the mid-morning beauty as they basked in the golden sun which cast its warmth upon them. Much had happened over the past week in which he had been working immensely in the fortified concrete walls of his hometown of Stormwind. Though corruption had plagued a percent of the nobles which brought upon many tough decisions to the Council of Stormwind, all had been well, for the most part. One can only stay in the hostile enviroment of himself and fellow friends for so long until the point brings its self upon that single person that a vacation is needed. This point had come to Jarrick, but with a week gone past since the corruption dealings, it was his time to turn back towards the homestead and travel back to where he belonged. He knew what awaited him on his returnal...
"A fine breeze, it seems someone must have left the front door open" Jarrick stated to a nearby Soldier of the Eleventh Hour he knew. "Don't want it getting too cold in here, hm?" He chuckled as the fire and brimstone of his hellish surroundings exploded around him in deafening roars.
Molten lava and the stench of death filled Jarricks nostrils as he inhaled, and the burning vision of smoke and heat clawed at his eyes as he gazed longingly at the place he loved to travel so much, the place at which had tested his true courage, bravery, and mettle, the Molten Core. It was not his time to embark down into the Core once more, though, because it was time to escape those dark, firey depths and engage the challenges that awaited in the deadly, flaming heights of Blackwing Lair. Much has he trained for this moment of when he and his comrades of elites would fell Razorgore and proceed past the unforgiving blackened gate which held many mysteries. Today would be the day that the group of elites would challenge, and defeat, the monstrosities that lay behind that blackened gate.
As he touched the celestial orb which brought the pleasure of the afterlife and the pain of realizing that you were far from it, he closed his eyes, only to open them and find that he was once again in the familiar surroundings. The long, torch lit hall burned like an uninviting host telling its new guests to turn back. The stench of flesh and death made its way almost instantly to his nostrils, replacing the burning brimstone that once filled them. The burning visions of smoke that once clouded his eyes were instantly replaced by the ear shattering sounds of a beast in the room ahead. Faintly in front of him, a lone light stood as a symbol of what was to come. Victory or death, the two choices which befell the shoulders of him and his comrades. When the call was made, they lined up in formation.
Bendium, fearless, courageous, and brave leader of the frontmost fighters took a step forth and began his march. Xastra to his right, Elkruegs to his further right, Jarrick to his left, and Natty to his further left, the filled the hall from one side to another. Behind them, the sliding of robes could be heard. Behind them, the light footsteps of the hunters. Behind them, the prayers of the holy ones. Behind them, the soft patting of leather against the ground as nature's pleasant sounds softly played. Behind them, the cursing of the black arts. Behind them, the silent footsteps of the hidden ones. The fellowship that would break the Tame on Razorgore for good stepped forth, slowly and inevitably, to their fate.
'This is the time to shine for all of us, the time for us to be victorious and show the land exactly what we're about. We shall be the predominant force upon this battle which has beset us, and show what true strength the Eleventh holds.' Jarrick thought to himself, his expression unchanging. In step, his fellow Warriors, one by one, worked their way towards the end of the hall.
Once they had reached the end of the poorly lit stretch of hell, they came upon the flourescent, brightly lit room which had caused them so much pain in the beginning. It was time. Silently, group by group, all of the challengers that would attempt to succeed this day gathered their wits and joined with the ones they would be working with in conjunction to see one another through. Once the groups were set, a pact was made btween each and every one of them that they would do their best to not let their friends fall in battle. A pact which meant life itself to each and every person.
Jarrick glanced over to Razorgore, who, in a trance, roared and spit fire around the ceiling. Glancing to the opposite side of the room, he saw the Orc which believed it could maintain control over the beast. He smiled and chuckled slightly when he knew differently. With a sudden, sharp whistling, the small mage which now stood at the front of the pack threw her sword high and screamed the battle cry, and the elites charged forth.
Quickly charging the platform which held the Orc Enslaver, the group quickly downed him. One of the Eleventh members grabbed the orb and started controlling as the battle quickly rose to an intense climax.
Jarrick quickly strode to the side of the platform as a group of orcs was chasing him, and jumped. Luckily, his jump off the platform was successful. Unluckily, midflight, an orc caught his back and he dropped like a rock to the floor, slamming down and putting immense preasure on his body. Quickly grabbing at his sheathed shortswords at his ankle, he unsheathed them and brought them high into the stomach of the Orc. Blood spat and trickled down his helm as he knew the Orc was dispatched, and he threw the dead body weight off of himself and sheathed his weapons once more.
Quickly jumping back into his mindset of running and killing, he withdrew his Reaper and slammed it into the head of an Orc which began chasing one of the less experienced. The Orc dropped. Behind him roared another Orc, one which had called for a death wish because as quick as he turned, the Orcs head rolled to the ground. Pushing himself towards the other direction away from Razorgore where many people stood surrounding the beast, more Orcs came to quench their thirst for blood. Spinning and gripping his axe tightly, Jarrick quickly dispatched another. Glancing past the fallen Orc, more charged full speed at him and he knew that this many would be impossible to fell and he would be on the wrong side of the axe. Turning to take off in the opposite direction, an Orc grabbed his foot and dropped him to the floor. Flipping to his back as the Orc stood above him raising its axe high, Jarrick flung himself towards the Orcs legs, heaving his axe, cutting through the Orcs foot. Regaining strength and balance, he stood and drove his axe through the Orcs chest.
At this point, Jarricks head rang with the screams, shrieks, and sounds of swords, spells, and banishments. For a moment, his vision went faulty and he began to become dizzy, and he heard a voice echo through his head. "We must go, Razorgore is about to fall!" And once Jarrick had regained his balance and vision once more, he saw just past the blackened gate which they entered, the remainder of the group he had travelled to the Lair with. He watched as the dragon fell to his stomach screaming the words that would forever ring in Jarricks head... and he watched in horror as the dragon crashed against the ground.
Raising his fist high, his honorary sword in hand, he yelled "This is our finest hour!" as the eggs that surrounded him exploded in unison, decimating the bodies of all that were foolish enough to stand amongst them, himself included...
Jarrick awoke to a bright sky and a melody of nearby birds chirping in the mid-morning beauty as they basked in the golden sun which cast its warmth upon them. Much had happened over the past week in which he had been working immensely in the fortified concrete walls of his hometown of Stormwind. Though corruption had plagued a percent of the nobles which brought upon many tough decisions to the Council of Stormwind, all had been well, for the most part. One can only stay in the hostile enviroment of himself and fellow friends for so long until the point brings its self upon that single person that a vacation is needed. This point had come to Jarrick, but with a week gone past since the corruption dealings, it was his time to turn back towards the homestead and travel back to where he belonged. He knew what awaited him on his returnal...
"A fine breeze, it seems someone must have left the front door open" Jarrick stated to a nearby Soldier of the Eleventh Hour he knew. "Don't want it getting too cold in here, hm?" He chuckled as the fire and brimstone of his hellish surroundings exploded around him in deafening roars.
Molten lava and the stench of death filled Jarricks nostrils as he inhaled, and the burning vision of smoke and heat clawed at his eyes as he gazed longingly at the place he loved to travel so much, the place at which had tested his true courage, bravery, and mettle, the Molten Core. It was not his time to embark down into the Core once more, though, because it was time to escape those dark, firey depths and engage the challenges that awaited in the deadly, flaming heights of Blackwing Lair. Much has he trained for this moment of when he and his comrades of elites would fell Razorgore and proceed past the unforgiving blackened gate which held many mysteries. Today would be the day that the group of elites would challenge, and defeat, the monstrosities that lay behind that blackened gate.
As he touched the celestial orb which brought the pleasure of the afterlife and the pain of realizing that you were far from it, he closed his eyes, only to open them and find that he was once again in the familiar surroundings. The long, torch lit hall burned like an uninviting host telling its new guests to turn back. The stench of flesh and death made its way almost instantly to his nostrils, replacing the burning brimstone that once filled them. The burning visions of smoke that once clouded his eyes were instantly replaced by the ear shattering sounds of a beast in the room ahead. Faintly in front of him, a lone light stood as a symbol of what was to come. Victory or death, the two choices which befell the shoulders of him and his comrades. When the call was made, they lined up in formation.
Bendium, fearless, courageous, and brave leader of the frontmost fighters took a step forth and began his march. Xastra to his right, Elkruegs to his further right, Jarrick to his left, and Natty to his further left, the filled the hall from one side to another. Behind them, the sliding of robes could be heard. Behind them, the light footsteps of the hunters. Behind them, the prayers of the holy ones. Behind them, the soft patting of leather against the ground as nature's pleasant sounds softly played. Behind them, the cursing of the black arts. Behind them, the silent footsteps of the hidden ones. The fellowship that would break the Tame on Razorgore for good stepped forth, slowly and inevitably, to their fate.
'This is the time to shine for all of us, the time for us to be victorious and show the land exactly what we're about. We shall be the predominant force upon this battle which has beset us, and show what true strength the Eleventh holds.' Jarrick thought to himself, his expression unchanging. In step, his fellow Warriors, one by one, worked their way towards the end of the hall.
Once they had reached the end of the poorly lit stretch of hell, they came upon the flourescent, brightly lit room which had caused them so much pain in the beginning. It was time. Silently, group by group, all of the challengers that would attempt to succeed this day gathered their wits and joined with the ones they would be working with in conjunction to see one another through. Once the groups were set, a pact was made btween each and every one of them that they would do their best to not let their friends fall in battle. A pact which meant life itself to each and every person.
Jarrick glanced over to Razorgore, who, in a trance, roared and spit fire around the ceiling. Glancing to the opposite side of the room, he saw the Orc which believed it could maintain control over the beast. He smiled and chuckled slightly when he knew differently. With a sudden, sharp whistling, the small mage which now stood at the front of the pack threw her sword high and screamed the battle cry, and the elites charged forth.
Quickly charging the platform which held the Orc Enslaver, the group quickly downed him. One of the Eleventh members grabbed the orb and started controlling as the battle quickly rose to an intense climax.
Jarrick quickly strode to the side of the platform as a group of orcs was chasing him, and jumped. Luckily, his jump off the platform was successful. Unluckily, midflight, an orc caught his back and he dropped like a rock to the floor, slamming down and putting immense preasure on his body. Quickly grabbing at his sheathed shortswords at his ankle, he unsheathed them and brought them high into the stomach of the Orc. Blood spat and trickled down his helm as he knew the Orc was dispatched, and he threw the dead body weight off of himself and sheathed his weapons once more.
Quickly jumping back into his mindset of running and killing, he withdrew his Reaper and slammed it into the head of an Orc which began chasing one of the less experienced. The Orc dropped. Behind him roared another Orc, one which had called for a death wish because as quick as he turned, the Orcs head rolled to the ground. Pushing himself towards the other direction away from Razorgore where many people stood surrounding the beast, more Orcs came to quench their thirst for blood. Spinning and gripping his axe tightly, Jarrick quickly dispatched another. Glancing past the fallen Orc, more charged full speed at him and he knew that this many would be impossible to fell and he would be on the wrong side of the axe. Turning to take off in the opposite direction, an Orc grabbed his foot and dropped him to the floor. Flipping to his back as the Orc stood above him raising its axe high, Jarrick flung himself towards the Orcs legs, heaving his axe, cutting through the Orcs foot. Regaining strength and balance, he stood and drove his axe through the Orcs chest.
At this point, Jarricks head rang with the screams, shrieks, and sounds of swords, spells, and banishments. For a moment, his vision went faulty and he began to become dizzy, and he heard a voice echo through his head. "We must go, Razorgore is about to fall!" And once Jarrick had regained his balance and vision once more, he saw just past the blackened gate which they entered, the remainder of the group he had travelled to the Lair with. He watched as the dragon fell to his stomach screaming the words that would forever ring in Jarricks head... and he watched in horror as the dragon crashed against the ground.
Raising his fist high, his honorary sword in hand, he yelled "This is our finest hour!" as the eggs that surrounded him exploded in unison, decimating the bodies of all that were foolish enough to stand amongst them, himself included...