The End Of The Year by Ashagga

[Keeper Of Lore]

Snow drifted gently past the figure in the Dun Morough hills, overlooking Kharanos. In the distance, the looming mountain of Ironforge cast an imposing shadow over the snow-covered valley below. The figure, wrapped tightly in a blowing cloak, watched with only mild interest as the gnomes and dwarves scurried about below, exchanging gifts and well-wishes.

Ashagga watched the young Alliance celebrating the season of happiness and togetherness and felt a pang of loneliness. She wanted to rush down from her vantage, draw her blades, and leave the younglings face down in their own blood and viscera, but she couldn't bring herself to move. In this time, even her most hated enemies deserved a few moments of celebration. In the end, what would it matter?

The season was one of happiness and joy throughout Azeroth, but for some individuals, it was one of regret and hindsight. So much had happened, so much had changed over the last year, Ashagga could hardly believe she was the same person. The orcling that had joined the Grim was gone. She had felt so jaded, so cynical when she became one of the Grim. She didn't know what cynical meant. She'd learned that lesson this last year.

Ashagga was alone. While young orcs and trolls were awaiting the coming of Greatfather Winter, Ashagga had long since outgrown such childish concepts. And yet, a part of her longed for her younger days. She had spent many cold winters with her mother in Orgrimmar, reading letters from her father, reading about how he missed them and would be home soon. All his letters said the same... "I miss you. I'll be home soon."

Her father was dead, murdered by elves in Ashenvale. Her mother was dead, taken by a sickness. Chingaso, the orc she loved, was spending the holiday in the arms of another woman, sworn by duty, and yet Ashagga did not doubt that he was not so terribly sorry. The other woman would make him a much better wife, and they all knew it.

She did not feel the urge to slay Alliance this holiday. The Valley was overrun, the Basin was losing ground daily, and the Gulch was a neverending see-saw of control, and yet, Ashagga could not care. The rest of the Grim would happily fight the Alliance. Ashagga would spend the holiday alone.

And yet, while she was regretful, while she was melancholy, she was not sad. It was more a lingering, omnipresent sense of opportunities missed. Rather than be crushed by their weight, Ashagga was determined to improve her lot over the next year. She was not sad to be alone. She was using the opportunity to meditate and consider her mistakes and to improve.

The end of the year only meant a chance to make the next that much better.

((I submit a challenge: tell us about your character's holiday! Is (s)he alone? With friends or family? Does your character celebrate the festival? If so, how? Give us all an insight to your character's thoughts, feelings, and behavior!))

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Lupen

((Hah, excellent idea!))

Once again the visage of the now Blasted Lands scarred the Warlock's eyes. There was no joyous fluff upon the ground as in Winterspring, Dun Morogh, or other such places. The Winter's Veil was not celebrated by the lonely dezens of these lands, Demons, Demon Worshipers, and Lost Ones. It had been ages since Lupen had visited this place again, ever since his previous visit with Diao... Suprisingly enough, the Warlock still failed to call a Doomguard to his command.

Lupen looked toward the sky, snow did not fall, only black ash. Lightning constantly struck the weakened and dead dirt below. Dreadsteed idling beside, not questioning, nor opposing, merely obeying. The Warlock's eyes narrowed, he squinted as the ash and sand obscured sight. There was no mistaking it, the Nether cannot lie, the nightmarish visions were yet true again... Outland will be the next for The Grim to conquer.

None of this seemed to phase the now Arch-Dread Mage... Runes had not been added to his body since his encounter with the Third Dark. The Rune of the Nether upon his palm began to glow faintly and faulter. Lupen knelt and reflected upon the passing year... It was impossible to believe, so much had gone by since his awakening... The Grim, Xoroth, Demonic Possession, Supression, The Third Dark, the Firelord, and now this... Now a new war is to be waged... New enemies, new allies... It mattered not.

Lupen eyed his surroundings, the stench of decay was clear in the air. Posessed vultures swooped overhead, swooping in and violently assaulting the necrotic bodice of a fallen Dwarf warrior. Lupen never felt pity, remorse, pain... But he could feel hatred, desire, true power. His mind became numb... The once violent mood swings Lupen had experienced were now all but erradicated. The concept of mood was soon to be dead to the Warlock. Dreadlords do not feel, they act, they are. Lupen became less mortal by the day, slipping into true power, while forsaking his comrades. It was too late, the choice was made, and he had no will to turn back.

Ash continued to fall from the heavens, for now, and forever.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Chingaso

Chingaso wake from restless sleep. Spirits still trouble Chingaso. Call false.

Chingaso think over past year. Year of much accomplish. Chingaso join rank of Grim. Become full train. Fight for Horde and attain officer commission.

Year of many friend. Chingaso make fast friend of Chaindog. Hunt much with. Chingaso have friend in Syreena, Grolish, even Muatah, though sometime rough and brusque. And Chingaso say goodbye to best friend Huevos, for Huevos get old and not fit for battle, so Chingaso set free near home. Sometime Chingaso still hear familiar roar follow by scream of zhevra. Chingaso smile.

Chingaso think of Shaggy. Chingaso look with long across lair to space share with Shaggy for brief time between end of Shaggy ordeal and wedding that not happen. Chingaso wonder where Shaggy spend holiday. Chingaso resolve think of something else.

Chingaso think of Orugasa, orc who stop Chingaso and Shaggy marry. Orugasa visit often now, sometimes even hunt with Chingaso, practice healing while Chingaso kill. Chingaso think how well get along with Orugasa, and how well Orugasa fit with Chingaso. And Chingaso think on intend to honor promise of father long dead. And realize that still no sure.

Chingaso look out over Barrens from lair. Wintervale. Bah.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Gorvena

Like, omigawd! Winters vale is soo awesome!

So, like I went back to Orgrimmar, y'know, and found Gor'oka and Maca'rena, and we like exchanged gifts and junk, and I told them how awesome it is to be in the Grim, and how totally great cousin Chingaso is, and how like some of the Grim act like they don't totally like the way I talk and junk, and how totally amazing the triplets are and, well, y'know! Stuff and junk!

This is totally my favorite time of the year. It's soo totally bitchin!

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Guduk

The sounds of metal clashing sounds through the valley of Mulgor, a small troop of Horde tucked away in a hill side continue their training with Guduk watching over them. A flake of snow falls onto Guduks snout and he snorts faintly, his eyes catching sight of more snow starting to fall. He raises his head to the sky and continues to watch in silence.

The Warriors slowly stop their dueling at more snow starts to come down, Guduk comes out of his silent resolve and glares down at the Orcs, Tauren, Undead and Trolls before him. "Back to it!" he bellows "Its only snow, do not get so distracted, you think the demons will take pause to this?"

Guduk smashes his plates fist against his chestpiece "The Dark Portal opens, and I plan to be ready" he paces back and forth as all the eyes look to him. "A year ago i was like you, weak, eager, ready to be molded." he snorts "Work hard, train hard, fight hard now." Guduk grins as he continues "And Tonight we feast"

The Warriors raise their weapons and cheer, and the sounds of practice start again. Guduk moves to his tent and slips inside, he pulls off his helm and slumps into a small stool which complains about his weight. He looks at the old family chest across from him and leans forward to open it, he pulls out a small hide with a family drawing, looking at this figures of his family he gives a sigh and then places it to the side, he then reaches in and pulls out a small glowing Orb. Peering into the Orb, Guduk's eyes take on a slight green tint. A few moments pass as he continues to stare into the orb, his fingers brushing over its surface slowly, then he blinks slowly and places the Orb back into the chest.

Celebrating another Christmas alone, Guduk grabs his helmet and strolls outside again to send peons to gather fire wood.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Thalevia

Laughter and voices rang through the inn in Brill as many forsaken enjoyed the holiday they had adopted upon inclusion into the horde.

Alcohol of all kinds flowed freely, almost too freely for the trio of orcs singing tavern songs by the bar and the pair of troll females dancing on top a nearby table. Attention was drawn to them accompanied by cheers as bits of plate and mail were flung off to the peril of those around them.

Thalevia herself simply sat with a glass of wine, absorbing the cheer around her, not interacting, simply observing. Her felhound lay beside her chair, growling at any who came near. A smile crossed her face as one young rogue stumbbled back, spilled his drink and found himself missing half a thigh as her demon struck in annoyance.

There would be no sadness or refections of memories lost on this night.

'I will enjoy the holiday.' she said to herself as she ran her fingers lightly over Maadom's head, causing him to growl contently. She smiled and raised her glass to a pair of young mages shooting her demon uneasy looks.

She rose and left, demon trotting close behind. Maybe she would bring some green and red to Goldshire in the shape of her infernal. It was afterall, a time for excitement and good cheer and bringing her own brand of holiday merriment to the fine inhabitents of that hovel would go far in bringing cheer. Everyone liked a little warmth during the holidays.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Malstrom

The sun shone hot and humid on the little island, despite the season. It had a name, but one only the inhabitants would recognize. The settlement was small, but very old and so far off the beaten trail that they rarely saw any outsiders at all.

Malstrom could see the settlement from far off, over the waves. It was a long run, but it would be worth it, the waves surging under his feet, sending him home.

The packs on his back were loaded with the meat he had collected in Alterac Valley and cured himself. It would be a merry Winter's Veil this year.

At first no one recognized him. His time in the Grim had changed him so much. Not just the clothes, but his thirst for war. He forgot how peaceful island life was.

He smiled and dropped his packs. Then proceeded to peel off layer after layer of armor until he stood there as he had left, wearing just a loincloth.

His brother Tiktok was the first one to approach, and almost immediately started making fun of his uneven tan. Soon the rest of his family had piled around, then the village.

He presented the packs of meat to the village chieftain, who smiled as he took them. He felt like a returning hero.

When she found out he was Grim, his mother cried with pride and his father beamed. The Chief gave his entire family a place of honor for the feast. He felt good.

He told tales. Tales of the Molten Core and Zul Gurub. Of battling Ragnaros, and defeating Hakkar. Of the bravery of the Grim. Of those he met in the ranks. Of the heroes and legends he fought alongside. Of his best friend Bloodscream. All ears listened intently. Eyes wide. Disbelieving if not for the Grim tabard he wore.

He forgot how far they were from the world and for a time, he joined them. He laughed with his friends and loved with his family. A few of the village lasses also eagerly let him know what they thought of the Grim and in some ways, of the warmth that Winter's Veil brings to this part of the world.

Next year he would have to bring Bloodscream. Even if he refused to eat anything but the gnome.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Orugasa

Orugasa smiled at all the children's happy faces. "So easily pleased," she thought. "Though the happiness would probably be temporary." After the Winter Veil fun was over they would still be orphans. Orugasa had always spent Winter Veil at the the orphanage. There were so many. So many wronged by the Alliance. Since she was small it was only her and her father and he had taught her that Winter Veil was for giving. Orugasa and the others handed out toy staffs, staves, maces and shields. They handed out herb pouches, bows, arrows, quivers, mini pic axes and small knives. The children were thrilled and all at once wanted to know how to use everything. "This is right," Orugasa thought. She had been able to give out much more this year than any other. Being in the Grim had been good. When she asked her new Grim friends they were very generous. Even though she had just joined, they trusted her and she appreciated that. Someone to lean on in this time was comforting. Not just during Winter Veil, but also during the Alliance threat that was a part of their daily lives. She had found a new home with the grim and was very happy about it. "Life among the Horde is good."

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Grolish

Grolish sits alone atop a bluff in Mulgore using his gifts of Far Sight to observe his family home off in the distance. He sees his brother Altamar talking with his mother as she tends the half dozen boars roasting over an open fire. He can almost smell the aroma of his mother's roast boar. He knows that soon the entire family will gather to feast and celebrate the Winter's Vale...except for him.

He loves them dearly and wishes desperately that he could join them in their celebration, but he knows that he can not. Just being this close to them is risky. His rise to leadership within The Grim, and the methods he and The Grim use to eradicate the alliance filth from our lands has resulted in a number of powerful enemies. Should his family be known to his enemies, they would surely exact their revenge on them. He cannot allow this to happen. He cannot walk among them until the last of his enemies have fallen.

He wonders how his brother's Druidic training is progressing, and how his father fares in Thralls army. He notices an occasional hint of sadness in his mother's eyes as she scans the bluffs around their home. Perhaps she senses his presence...she always did have close ties with the Earthmother and the spirits.

He wills his thoughts through the spirits to his mother..."Yes mother, I am here. I am well and strong. Celebrate as if I were there."

He sees a smile, and a tear, form on his mother's face and he knows his message reached her.

He mounts his Frostwolf and rides off, knowing that many enemies stand between him and his family. They will not stand long.

Edit: ((Ashagga, I thought this was such a great idea that it was worth starting on the TNG boards. I hope everyone who posted here will copy there post to the TNG thread! Great idea Ashagga!!))

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Bloodscream

Greyfang padded up to the top of the snowy bluff.
Atop him sat his master, Bloodscream. From here, he could see the dogs approach. He hoped they would be elves.

The scouts reported an alliance war band headed their way.

Bloodscream tucked the reigns under the saddle and drew his massive shield and sword. His blade burst into flame in the cool morning air.

He saw the first of them, a druid in jaguar form, an elf. He smiled.

Winter's Veil was about family Malstrom had told him before returning home. Malstrom had agreed and Bloodscream hoped his friend had not been vexed by his desire to be alone for the season.

Winter's Veil was about family.
Bloodscream remembered well the tale Malstrom's father told him, of the night he was found. ((See TN gazette, Origins, part I.))
Winter's Veil was about family.

His eyes narrowed, the druid was in striking range, his dozen friends a hundred yards behind. He knew the ragtag band of assembled Horde were waiting his charge. Soon they would all be in range.
Winter's Veil was about family.
Now.
He kicked Greyfang and the wolf, who'd been staring holes into the jaguar, launched itself forward. Bloodscream raised his flaming blade high and roared. The snowdrifts burst into a cloud of snow as forsaken, trolls, Taurens and Orcs, sprung their ambush.

Winter's Veil was about family.

The alliance looked up in horror as a barrage of magic and arrows slammed into their ranks. The Horde forces charged down the frozen hillside, at their head, vaulting from his wolf, Bloodscream roared his fury, his eyes wide, spittle flying.

He drove his blade deep into the druid as he shifted forms, screaming into the elf's face.
"YOU MISSED ONE!" He roared at the elf who understood nothing but his impending death.

Winter's Veil was about family.

Bloodscream spent the day drenched in sweat and blood, elven blood. It was the only present he had to give.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Syreena

Some of the Grims had left for a while, to visit their families over Winter's Veil. Syreena had no family to go visit. The Grim was the only family she knew.

The little Forsaken sat on the bank roof in Orgrimmar, admiring the decorated tree and watching people come and go as they prepared for battle and conducted other business, including a snowball fight between two orcs and a troll. Bear, her worg pup, pawed at her leg. He stared intently at her as she took a bite of a tree shaped cookie. She grinned at him, broke off a small piece of the cookie, and offered him the larger piece. He swallowed it in one gulp. She handed the smaller piece up to Gilly, the parrot on her shoulder. Syreena smiled as the bird dropped crumbs on her leather tunic.

As her gaze returned to the decorated tree, she realized that it had been nearly a year since she had started her training. The time had gone by so quickly, and yet, at the same time, it seemed it must have been much longer for all that had happened in the span of such a short time.

In only a year, she had changed from a frightened girl to a well-trained killer. When once she had to carefully memorize every potion recipe she learned as she learned it, she now, thanks to Grolish's lessons, could read and write. A year ago, she had no family or friends or even acquaintances, and now she had The Grim. "You are Grim, through and through," someone had told her a few months ago. She took it as a compliment.

As she ate another cookie, ignoring Bear while he shifted position as if to get more comfortable, but obviously trying to get her attention, she pondered what the new year might bring. Rumors had spread about great changes coming to Azeroth. There was also that other mystery that she'd only told one person about. She expected it would be a very interesting year for her.

Syreena finished her cookie and looked down to make sure Bones was still standing where she left him. She jumped down from the roof onto the boney steed's back and turned him toward the Drag to carry her to the battlemasters. Gilly spread his wings and took to the air when she jumped.

"Come on, Bear. Let's go kill some Alliance."

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Yichimet

The wind whipped through the heights and chasms of the Thousand Needles, screaming the lives of the Spirits into being again. Yichimet listened to this voice, and the voices of the many Spirits, mumbling, wailing, talking through the air.His owl was perched on his shoulder, preening itself, and Yichimet looked out over the landscape. On the horizon clouds gathered, big and gray, building up for a snowstorm. He made the trip to the Needles to talk with his elders often enough now that he did not miss the landscape so much when he left, but it was still food for his heart when he saw the stone and scrub of southern Kalimdor.Much weighed on his mind at this, the end of the year. First, his own story, the loss of his teacher Hidua and his position as Sorcerer to his Tribe. But that was older, and he dealt with it often so the cracks it caused in his heart were healing swiftly. He worried for many of his friends now:Mohan, who had been growing distant each day. Yichimet had visited the gravesite of Mohan's family and saw in his brother shu'halo's eyes an uncovered pain and rage; Yichimet was afraid his friend was lost, and would wander down a dark path.And Ashagga, the young, scarred orc, one of the few who saw the world as he did: full of Spirits, full of life and death. Her promise to Chingaso before those very Spirits would be a problem, Yichimet knew it. Sometimes his own role in that ceremony made him think he felt the cold grip of something's hand at night. And what did this young orc have to do with that voice he heard weeks ago, a dead voice he thought long gone? That voice that had saved him in Darkshore at the pit of the Old God--why was she back?Chingaso, too, would need to keep his eyes open. The hunter was good with his bow, and had keen eyes for the world, but what would trouble him would come from his Heart or beyond.Syreena had confessed a secret to him, something he did not fault her. Ashagga had done so too, for fear of the Grim who would use its knowledge to their advantage. Syreena was the reason for his trip home to the elders' circle again, to ask their advice on her illness. Yichimet remembered the scales on Vuudu's skin and thought of the bony flesh under Syreena's armor.His owl gave a soft hoot as Hidua's owl flew down to rest on a scrub brush beside them. Yichimet felt the three small items Magatha had given him to help Ashagga in a pouch under his cloak--another unsolved problem.Yichimet remembered past Winter's Veils and the celebrations that went with them. Even now his tribe was readying a feast, but he would not join them. His new year would be filled with trouble, he felt deep in his bones, and he wanted no false starts. His friends needed him.

[Keeper Of Lore]

by Xoscyl

Xoscyl plopped down in the tavern chair, tipsy and laughing, in Orgrimmar. She grabbed another mug of the 'special' Eggnog and took another swig. How she loved Winter's Veil. The lights, the presents, the food and how it made her light up and glow with a happieness that made her all the more beautiful.

Across from her sat Taegol, who still looked uncomfortable in such a setting. He never completely adjusted to city living. But none the less he had a smile on his face. Perhaps it was the festive lowcut vest and the skirt cut way up on Xoscyl's hip that promoted such a reaction. But either way, it made her happy to see him relax just a little bit.

The tavern was bustling with laughter and cheer as another round for all was bought by a Troll at the bar. He pulled out some gold from his brown bag and cascaded it over the bar top. Xoscyl had never seen the Tavern Keep so happy. She couldn't blame him.

Xoscyl took another sip of the Eggnog as a little goblin approached her, a letter in hand. Dispite her utter hatred for their kind, she let the holiday cheer get to her and met the goblin with a smile. She was then presented with a translation of an alliance letter she had found the night before. Smiling, she opened the note and began to read. Her smile soon faded as she read on down the page. When she finished, she looked as if she were going to be sick.

"Did you have too much Eggnog?" Taegol questioned.

"I only wish that were the case." Xoscyl stood and motioned for Taegol to follow her. She would want to discuss the contents with him before informing anyone else of the news she had discovered.

"The stumpling princess with child......." She felt bile rise in her throat as she thought. "I must end this abomination."