Xastra
09-06-2005, 03:09 PM
With a sigh, Xastra trailed her hand through the water, watching the ripples spread outward. The hollowness she had felt wishing goodbye to her friend Dergo had not left her. For the first time the fires of rage inside her were her lifeless and cold. Empty...so empty. Sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest she looked out over the loch.
Honor, valor, evil, good...it all was like ash in the rain. It seemed all her life she had sought some meaning for it. Oh, she had tried to find ways to combat the boredom. Countless battles had she thrown herself in, fighting desperate odds and impossible foes. The bards still sang of her deeds. When not on the battlefield, she had turned her attentions to the pursuit of pleasure and excess to fill the void. Even the endless daliances and debachery, however, had lost their thrill.
As the clouds lowered and the rain began to fall, a battle across the bay caught her attention. A young orc struggled with a giant bear in fearsome combat. Xastra sat and watched the dance of life and death play before her. The orc fought ferociously and finally managed to bring the bear down. Bleeding from countless wounds however, he fell to the ground and lay still.
Xastra looked over the water and watched the sun go down.
As the hush of evening fell over the loch, curiosity finally managed to make a dent in Xastra's apathy. She looked over and saw that the orc still lay where he had fallen. "Seems that one didn't make it" she observed. She wandered towards him and, with surprise, noticed that he still breathed.
As she stood over the fallen orc and stared into his defiant yellow eyes, she felt something twist inside her. Some of her people fought these beasts -- killed them with no mercy or thought to their suffering. With a snarl, the hordling drew a dagger and threw it at her face. Laughing, Xastra batted it aside. Amusement at his pathetic display of courage penetrated her cloud of detachement. With new interest she studied the orc. He was small for his race, barely her own height with green skin and odd tattoos scattered about his body. Barring his teeth he growled a taunt that crossed even racial language barriers. Xastra threw back her head and let loose a roaring laugh. Ah, the raging fires of youth! Now this was entertaining!
Xastra planted a knee on the orc's chest and unstoppered a vial. She poured a viscous red liquid down the struggling orcs throat and jumped back. His wounds mended magically before her eyes. The instant his strength returned, the orc leveled his sword and sprung to the attack! Oh indeed this was fun! Xastra dodged and parried his attacks with supple grace, her deadly dance a thing of beauty. For what felt like an eternity, Xastra toyed with the young orc. Every now and again, to continue the fun, she would let him land a blow. When exhastion began to overwhelm him, Xastra grew bored with this new game and stepped in for a killing blow
All of a sudden, Xastra heard a horrible crunch and snapping sound. Terrible pain shocked her, locking her in place, as blow upon blow fell upon her from behind. Finally, she struggled against the pain and managed to turn around. The snarling grimace of a troll spat into her face. In broken common, he lisped "Daye 'uman!" and shoved a dagger between her ribs. Her heroic strength leached out of her with her life blood and she found her limbs growing cold and heavy. In a sick parady of a lovers embrace, she clung to the troll. Her clutching hands caught in his necklaces as she struggled to remain standing. With a final twist of his blade, the troll threw Xastra off of him and onto the ground.
As she lay there with a red haze creeping into her vision, the brazen call of a dwarven war horn resounded from the hills. Xastra smiled knowing the wrath of the dwarven milita would soon fall on her foes. The orc looked up in alarm while the troll quickly finished bandaging him. Together they slipped into the underbrush and disappeared.
Xastra awoke later in a dwarven hospital with her feet hanging off the end of the bed and a terrible ache in her chest. The cherub face of her dear friend, Keellan, peered down at her in concern. As Xastra struggled to sit up, her hands caught in a web of clanking beads and small skulls. It seemed that even in death, she had refused to let go of the troll's tribal necklace.
As she recovered, Xastra's mind kept replaying the fight, while the sting of her helplessness fired a new rage inside her. She would find this troll and he would learn to fear her wrath! For long weeks, she searched for the origins of the troll, with the necklace her only clue. One day in the warrior's quarters in Ironforge, she overheard a loud mouthed paladin bragging about his many kills. In his hands he waved his war trophy a tangled mess of beads just like her troll's necklace! Shoving aside the crowd around him, she demanded to know where he had gotten such a thing. Even this braggart was taken aback by the crazed look in her eye and he could only stammer out "Warsong Gulch, the horde there."
Finally, a name and place to release her need for destruction! She vowed that when next the call to battle sounded, the Horde would find Xastra at the head of the army and her blade at their throats.
Honor, valor, evil, good...it all was like ash in the rain. It seemed all her life she had sought some meaning for it. Oh, she had tried to find ways to combat the boredom. Countless battles had she thrown herself in, fighting desperate odds and impossible foes. The bards still sang of her deeds. When not on the battlefield, she had turned her attentions to the pursuit of pleasure and excess to fill the void. Even the endless daliances and debachery, however, had lost their thrill.
As the clouds lowered and the rain began to fall, a battle across the bay caught her attention. A young orc struggled with a giant bear in fearsome combat. Xastra sat and watched the dance of life and death play before her. The orc fought ferociously and finally managed to bring the bear down. Bleeding from countless wounds however, he fell to the ground and lay still.
Xastra looked over the water and watched the sun go down.
As the hush of evening fell over the loch, curiosity finally managed to make a dent in Xastra's apathy. She looked over and saw that the orc still lay where he had fallen. "Seems that one didn't make it" she observed. She wandered towards him and, with surprise, noticed that he still breathed.
As she stood over the fallen orc and stared into his defiant yellow eyes, she felt something twist inside her. Some of her people fought these beasts -- killed them with no mercy or thought to their suffering. With a snarl, the hordling drew a dagger and threw it at her face. Laughing, Xastra batted it aside. Amusement at his pathetic display of courage penetrated her cloud of detachement. With new interest she studied the orc. He was small for his race, barely her own height with green skin and odd tattoos scattered about his body. Barring his teeth he growled a taunt that crossed even racial language barriers. Xastra threw back her head and let loose a roaring laugh. Ah, the raging fires of youth! Now this was entertaining!
Xastra planted a knee on the orc's chest and unstoppered a vial. She poured a viscous red liquid down the struggling orcs throat and jumped back. His wounds mended magically before her eyes. The instant his strength returned, the orc leveled his sword and sprung to the attack! Oh indeed this was fun! Xastra dodged and parried his attacks with supple grace, her deadly dance a thing of beauty. For what felt like an eternity, Xastra toyed with the young orc. Every now and again, to continue the fun, she would let him land a blow. When exhastion began to overwhelm him, Xastra grew bored with this new game and stepped in for a killing blow
All of a sudden, Xastra heard a horrible crunch and snapping sound. Terrible pain shocked her, locking her in place, as blow upon blow fell upon her from behind. Finally, she struggled against the pain and managed to turn around. The snarling grimace of a troll spat into her face. In broken common, he lisped "Daye 'uman!" and shoved a dagger between her ribs. Her heroic strength leached out of her with her life blood and she found her limbs growing cold and heavy. In a sick parady of a lovers embrace, she clung to the troll. Her clutching hands caught in his necklaces as she struggled to remain standing. With a final twist of his blade, the troll threw Xastra off of him and onto the ground.
As she lay there with a red haze creeping into her vision, the brazen call of a dwarven war horn resounded from the hills. Xastra smiled knowing the wrath of the dwarven milita would soon fall on her foes. The orc looked up in alarm while the troll quickly finished bandaging him. Together they slipped into the underbrush and disappeared.
Xastra awoke later in a dwarven hospital with her feet hanging off the end of the bed and a terrible ache in her chest. The cherub face of her dear friend, Keellan, peered down at her in concern. As Xastra struggled to sit up, her hands caught in a web of clanking beads and small skulls. It seemed that even in death, she had refused to let go of the troll's tribal necklace.
As she recovered, Xastra's mind kept replaying the fight, while the sting of her helplessness fired a new rage inside her. She would find this troll and he would learn to fear her wrath! For long weeks, she searched for the origins of the troll, with the necklace her only clue. One day in the warrior's quarters in Ironforge, she overheard a loud mouthed paladin bragging about his many kills. In his hands he waved his war trophy a tangled mess of beads just like her troll's necklace! Shoving aside the crowd around him, she demanded to know where he had gotten such a thing. Even this braggart was taken aback by the crazed look in her eye and he could only stammer out "Warsong Gulch, the horde there."
Finally, a name and place to release her need for destruction! She vowed that when next the call to battle sounded, the Horde would find Xastra at the head of the army and her blade at their throats.