The sound of Tecuns thick nail tapping against the rock beneath him merged with the bubbling of several cauldrons in the back. Aside from this motion, Tecun could've been made of stone, as he sat staring into the blackness beyond.
He'd taken shelter here, a small one in a series of caves just outside of Orgrimmar, after last nights beating in the arena. While applying the healing salves to his bruised body, he'd been forced to admit to himself that his gladiator days were over. Old age had taken it's due, and where once he'd blocked many a jab, the movements of rogues these days were increasingly hard to follow, while young minds were coming up with new tricks and strategies to use every day...
Well, if he couldn't be of use fighting, he'ld make sure the mandate was served in other ways. That would mean more potions, elixirs and flasks for the Horde, and wasn't he preparing new warbringers already to take his place? He'd been so proud of Xurek, the day she had fully accepted her responsibility to the Grim.
A nagging doubt had assaulted him there.What of the others? Tezrius, the death knight that had boasted of his own power, had gone missing, presumed dead on his assignment. Fierce Jin'sa had been full of promise, until all of a sudden she too had disappeared. Only yesterday he was approached by a Revantusk, saying Jin'sa lay dying in their village. He'ld have to fly out there, and soon. And what of Marrowen? The priestess light had shone brightly in Ironforge, but where was she now?
Tecun became uncomfortably aware he had no idea where the woman was. And that with Nymare stepping up as the new high Inquisitor. The elf's ambition would demand excellence as a bare minimum for herself and everyone under her wing, and woe to those that did not live up to her standards. Time was running out. He'ld offer to take on more minions, but before that, he would have to show he could handle them.
Biting down of an expensive sacred mushroom, Tecun started a jerky dance. The beat of his bare feet against the stone matched that of his pulse, as he droned wordless sounds in the back of his throat. A leap into the air, and his dance stopped, as did his heartbeat. He cried: "Ancient spirits of the Darkspear, hear my plea! For the sake of our tribe, I must now ask you to find one not under your protection! Guide me spirits, show me Marrowen, show me the priestess..." With these words, Tecun fell into a deep trance.
Living up to standards
-
Marrowen
Re: Living up to standards
The annoying buzz was back again, that itch in my brain that feels like someone is right on the edge of my consciousness. Peering, prying... how can I study what’s left of this body? I won't know how to keep it alive if I don't understand better how I killed it. I will have to explain that to the shaman that won’t leave me alone. Alone, haven’t felt this alone in a long time. I wonder if this is the emptiness that father felt.
My name was Marilyn Fletcher, the guys used to joke about me being the feather in their cap. There was always some pathetic joke made involving feathers when I was around. My father was a arrow maker and bowman for the alliance. I grew up around men that had very little on their mind besides killing the Horde. I never gave it much mind. When that’s what you know why would you look for anything else.
Blood Elves, Goblinoids, and the Living Dead. We cut them, they cut us. I lost so many friends to what seemed like such senseless killing. As I got older, I learned more, like how to lose lovers too. By that time I had found that those men that seemed to have very little on their minds were useful. Pretty things they were, I began to think of them as feathers in my cap. I never saw the pain I caused my father. Surrounded by death and all he could see is his little girl rotting her soul away on men that never really mattered. I wasn’t there when he died – I should have been. They told me that he challenged a sellsword because of the things that he said about me.
I laid with that sellsword that very night. He didn’t even know who I was. I had to tell him that it was my father he had killed that morning. I wish my father could have seen his face… his life blood pooling beneath him in that stable. My life was forfeit for killing a man, sellsword, knight or otherwise, so I ran. The taint of my soul must have been easy to track though. I didn’t make it a week before they found me and hung me from a murderer’s tree.
I think that is when I realized, truly realized the pain around me in the living world. As I rose again I felt it coursing through me. I could see that I had strength as a follower of the Forsaken to end the world’s weakness. I could show the humans and their fey toys, who insist on making their world of lies and deceptions, what truth could be. I would strive to give solace, a truly resting peace to anyone who was found deserving. The races of the Alliance are judged in life and squander it thus are the most deserving of this rest. Some may see the wisdom of this and go willing, others will not, but they all will go. Maybe if I save enough of them I will save myself as well.
Spreading the truth of weakness and freeing the land of it, I have spent many years since my death learning ways to heal and harm. If only I can find something useful to The Grim, they’ll have me then, I’m sure of it.
My name was Marilyn Fletcher, the guys used to joke about me being the feather in their cap. There was always some pathetic joke made involving feathers when I was around. My father was a arrow maker and bowman for the alliance. I grew up around men that had very little on their mind besides killing the Horde. I never gave it much mind. When that’s what you know why would you look for anything else.
Blood Elves, Goblinoids, and the Living Dead. We cut them, they cut us. I lost so many friends to what seemed like such senseless killing. As I got older, I learned more, like how to lose lovers too. By that time I had found that those men that seemed to have very little on their minds were useful. Pretty things they were, I began to think of them as feathers in my cap. I never saw the pain I caused my father. Surrounded by death and all he could see is his little girl rotting her soul away on men that never really mattered. I wasn’t there when he died – I should have been. They told me that he challenged a sellsword because of the things that he said about me.
I laid with that sellsword that very night. He didn’t even know who I was. I had to tell him that it was my father he had killed that morning. I wish my father could have seen his face… his life blood pooling beneath him in that stable. My life was forfeit for killing a man, sellsword, knight or otherwise, so I ran. The taint of my soul must have been easy to track though. I didn’t make it a week before they found me and hung me from a murderer’s tree.
I think that is when I realized, truly realized the pain around me in the living world. As I rose again I felt it coursing through me. I could see that I had strength as a follower of the Forsaken to end the world’s weakness. I could show the humans and their fey toys, who insist on making their world of lies and deceptions, what truth could be. I would strive to give solace, a truly resting peace to anyone who was found deserving. The races of the Alliance are judged in life and squander it thus are the most deserving of this rest. Some may see the wisdom of this and go willing, others will not, but they all will go. Maybe if I save enough of them I will save myself as well.
Spreading the truth of weakness and freeing the land of it, I have spent many years since my death learning ways to heal and harm. If only I can find something useful to The Grim, they’ll have me then, I’m sure of it.