World of Warcraft®

Hey all. Here are a few short stories from my characters about their current goings on. Each story is set to a song or two, because that's how I write. I decided to actually leave in the songs this time, so y'all can listen as you read.

Ketyru's Story: Cursed.

[Song: Name, Goo Goo Dolls]
Ketyru stood out on the terrace of her station. It was built into a natural cave on the face of hard, seaside cliffs. And ideal location for her and her small, yet amicable, band of comrades. The salty breeze kicked up her skirts and hair, but she never blinked.
Her mind was a million, million miles away.
She was just another grown orphan, looking for the family she never really had. She'd made a name for herself, but how many knew who she was beneath that? Very few. So very, very few.
[Song: If I Could Be Like That, 3 Doors Down]
She recalled Jor'el for a moment; the Draenei paladin who'd introduced her to the Alliance after Ruun's death. Jor'el had wanted to be like a father to her, but Ketyru would have none of it. Everyone she grew too close to died. Horribly.
She would love no more.
Ketyru rested a hand over the scars on her abdomen. the thick, puckered skin felt foreign, even now. She dwelled on what she had lost that day. Everything. And yet... here she was, lingering like a spirit torn from the grave. Forced to exist against her will.
She hated everything.
Yes. Let your malice grow!
The whispers in her mind were getting louder everyday. She paid them little heed, other than to acknowledge their presence. It seemed to be feeding them. But to ignore a threat, she had been taught, was to give in to defeat before the battle was even fought.
She had no choice. She would not give up.
Everyone you love has died because of you.
You killed them, Halfblood.
YOU.
YOU KILLED THEM ALL

Jackson's Story: Dock Worgen.

[Song: Kyptonite by 3 Doors Down]
Jack was having a hard time breaking through the fog left by the warlock. He couldn't recall anything about his former life. Just that he loved the water and, somehow, he was Worgen. The rest was a blur, scrubbed away by fel magics and cruel beatings.
He awoke to an unfamilar setting; a house in the city. The bearskin rug he lay on was a bit musty, but warm. Slowly, he began to remember the previous night. How the Draenei woman had tempted him with succulent rabbits. He still had a peice of wire lodged in his molars...
And the other Worgen, the one who could speak. How was he able to be so Human?! Jack found himself driven into a jealous rage, and he took off through the city until he came to the docks.
[Song: Numb by Linkin Park]
The salt in the air reminded Jack of home, somehow. A peacefulness came over him, extinguishing the rage that has risen up like a snake in the grass. He watched the dock workers hurry hither and yon, the ships bob in the swells of the sea and listened to the bells and shouts of the coming and going ships.
This felt so right for Jack. Something about it pulled on his heartstrings and he felt a longing he'd never known before. At least, not that he knew of that he'd known before. His nose crinkled up into a snarl. Frustration quickly swelled in his breast, washing away the peace like a tidal wave.
All Jack knew was that he had to work on one of those ships!

Quin's Story: Fifth Wheel.

[Song: Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana]
Quin sat in a little chair across from her brother, Hans. A sly grin spread across her face as she rolled a small explosive stick under his feet. On her left, Septimbra scowled. Youngest of the siblings, Septi had little tolerance for her brothers and sisters.
When the stick blew, so did Hans. His pink, chubby face flushed in rage and he launched himself at Quin. She deftly dodged his bold attack and, with a flick of her wrist, sent him spinning into her twin, Quadrus. This, of course, bent Quad out of shape and he set fire to Hans' cloak.
Chaos soon ensued and the seven little Gnomes; Rickey, Hans, Tertianne, Quadrus and Quintesla, Gregory and Septimbra were brawling like seven Dwarves. Bits of dynamite and several loose gears flew around the family workshop as they tussled. They bit, scratched, bonked and bombed with abandon until a shrill whistle brought them all to a standstill.
[Song: Learn to Fly by Foo Fighters]
Brighton Flashracket stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. The Gnome patriarch looked over his bitten, bruised and smoking brood with the best scowl he could muster. His pink hair, usually so gay and wavy, now quivered with rage.
"Look at this mess! Clean it up! What is WRONG with you seven?!"
He made a head count, just to be sure. Rickey...Hans...Tertianne...Quadrus...Gregory and Septimbra all stood looking at their feet. But there was no Quintesla!
"QUINTESLA TIFANNY FLASHRACKET!" Brighton bellowed.
But she was long gone!

Toluraan's Story: Tempered.

[Song: Drops of Jupiter by Train]
Bent over the anvil, muscles dripping with perspiration, Toluraan eased the shape of a sword into the gold-toned metal. He tempered the edge, just like he tempered his rage. A quick quench in a barrel of salt water and it was ready to be reheated. Toluraan grabbed another blank and, with swift and precise strikes of his hammer, brought forth another fine blade.
His face was blank, yet there was a passion in his eyes that existed only in the heat of battle, forging or when he looked at his loving mate, Aeaa. It was untamed, untempered. His love for his mate and his pursuit of justice were unmatched by any other aspect of his life. Perhaps the only thing greater would be his fierce love for their children.
Stepping away from the finished swords, Toluraan mopped himself down with an old towel, then stepped over to a trough of fresh water. He dunked the towel in, rang it out and washed the sweat from his skin. His apron he hung on its peg and he finished cleaning up.
It was a routine he quite enjoyed, but it was becoming almsot too repetitive. Every day he would work on a sword or hammer, or two, and then clean up, spend time with Aeaa and then sleep. The movement of his life was stale. He was beginning to crave more.
[Song: Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls]
When he mounted the stairway of their little apartment in the Exodar, Aeaa was in deep meditation. His countenance softened, watching her. Her fine, porclein skin and raven black hair contrasted perfectly. The glow from her eyes lit the lavender veins, giveing the impression of paint. She was beautiful, ethereal, and his.
Toluraan went ahead and fixed them both something to eat. Aeaa's meditations could be just as taxing as his forging. He would meditate later. The Light was kind, infusing him with the strength to carry on to the next challenge. He knew the Elements could often prove stubborn and unwilling, so he left her be.
[Song: You and Me by Lifehouse]
Light, though, how he loved her. It was sacrileige, he knew, to love his mate more than the Light. And so he devoted himself to the Light as best he could, praying for forgiveness every single day. Thanking the Light for giving him Aeaa. Asking for her continued presence in his life and, perhaps, the gift of a child.
Someday.

((Excellent read! Well done :) ))

((Thank you muchly!))

(( I write much the same way! never thought about adding the music to the story.. Brilliant idea, and wonderful to read :) ))

((Hey guys, feel free to post your own stories here too! Just remember to add what you're listening to as you write. You can format it the way I did, or however you like. It would be great to see what sort of music inspires others =3 ))

(Hmmm....))
*pulls on gnomish thinking-cap*

Lorrik Sinclair: Just Another Wolf

(I Put a Spell on You : Annie Lennox)

Everything felt different.. Everything felt.. Soft, sensitive fur moved freely in the wind. A light rain drizzled down, chilling him to the bone. Solid blue eyes opened, and saw. They saw that at that moment, he was alone in the Foothills. But, his nose told him otherwise. Off at the edge of the woods, a pack of.. wolves?
His entire body ached. Half his face and nose rested in soft mud. He was bleeding, but he wasn't quite sure where. Gently, Lorrik pushed himself up. Clawed hands anchored him into the mud and grass, his hind legs stretching and moving to a comfortable position. The rains picked up, stinging his eyes. He felt himself being called to the wolf pack. Distant growls and snarls assuring him, encouraging him. They were getting restless. With a small whine, he started crawling toward the dense forests of Silverpine.

(Everybody Wants to Rule the World : Lorde)

Lorrik watched a young undead woman through the scope of his rifle, tapping a metal-cased claw on the stock of the weapon. Every now and then, he would rest the pad of his finger on the trigger and give it just a little pressure.. Then he would go back to tapping. On either side of him laid wolves, one white as snow, one black as night. Behind him, a wolf with copper-colored eyes paced. He ground his teeth, and in one motion, stood. He rested the rifle on his shoulder and stalked off, back toward the Alterac Mountains. The wolves followed after a moment.

(Elastic Heart : Sia)

From his bracer, Lorrik pulled out a small piece of metal. It was circular, more than likely half of a locket. A womans name was etched onto the back of it. He spun it on the table top, listening to the elf-in-green talk of something horrible that happened. Something she had no control of.
He let the mangled metal wobble and fall flat on the table. Slowly, thoughtfully, he stood. He left the locket there, to be tossed out or melted down by an engineer. He left more than a locket, and somehow he was able to breathe easier. He padded up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor of the Booty Bay tavern. He slept the best he had in years.

(( Still working out kinks in my writing, so I apologize if it doesn't flow well, etc.. These are just a few key events in Lorriks recent life. :) ))

((Wonderful read! Thanks Lorrik!))

Zephilyn's Story: Reflection
(Enigmatic Soul: Two Steps from Hell - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8IKGSTzQMk )

The early morning was one of her most cherished times of the day. No acolyte stirred to prepare the cathedral for the day's services. No priests giving sermons. No townsfolk, looking for answers to lighten their burden. Even the orphans were still abed.

Her footsteps carried through the cathedral's vaulted ceilings. The dim early morning light accented by nearly burnt out candles, forming puddles on the floor. She trod as reverently as she could, drinking in the emptiness, until she reached the side hall she sought.

The small room had a few tables and chairs in it. On a lectern in the center of the room lay a great book, its pages well worn and marked with the cross of the Presidium. It lay open to a blank page.

She knelt before the lectern and turned the pages on the book back. Back to an entry made some time ago. A trace of a smile came to her lips as she read the entry. The last, most poignant passage she read, then read again- her fingertips tracing the words. The words of a different person, perhaps. But her words nonetheless.

However turned around she might feel as a leader, however unworthy, the words brought her back to why she chose her path.

My own lesson is that rising to the defense of innocents is good. Removing a danger or threat is Just. But one must be wary when judging solely by appearance. Hasty judgments, fueled by emotion, can be harsh mistakes. It is a hard lesson, but one I must strive to learn and in so doing, bring myself closer to the Light.

Without a further word, she turned the book back to the first blank page. Standing silently, she turned and left the room. The candlelight reflected from her armor playing on the walls as she moved away.

Zherron's Story: Bloody Claws, Torn Soul
Tommy Makem - Ever the Winds: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IIvcsjm6xE

Elmira was huddled with her three daughters in the cellar, trying not to listen to the horrible sounds coming from outside, and trying to keep the girls quiet so the monsters did not come for them next. He was out there somewhere, she knew; her husband, the reluctant rebel, now fighting for all of his people against these wolf-men that terrorized the countryside. She prayed that he would be safe.

Sitting cross-legged next to her against the wall, eyes closed in meditation, was her mother-in-law. She was a harvest witch, and had taught some of the old ways to her son - but he had followed his father into the army during the war against the Horde. The old man had gone beyond the wall before it was complete, refusing to abandon the Alliance that Greymane had so callously dismissed...and if the rumors were true, Lordaeron was an abode of the damned now. It was said that these monsters had been summoned by the Archmage at the behest of the King, to combat the undead that marched on the wall through Silverpine...but now, they had begun to kill the people they had been summoned to protect.

"Damn Arugal," she whispered bitterly.

She heard the cellar doors open. Next to her, her mother-in-law's eyes opened, and she stood. "Alma?" she asked uncertainly. "Do you feel something?"

Alma did not reply, as she approached the bottom of the stairs leading back up to the street. "Eidan?" she whispered, uncertainly...and Elmira felt her blood turn to ice water as she heard a familiar snarl - familiar, in that a close call had forced the family down here in the first place. Then a flash of teeth and fur, and the elder woman was torn open chest to navel. She fell, twitching, to the floor. The girls screamed in horror at the sight of the mangled corpse.

Elmira looked up to see a...beast, wearing the tattered remnants of a leather vest and breeches. It had dark fur with a tuft of white on its chin, and lupine ears pulled back. Amber eyes stared from under a heavy brow, and it breathed heavily, panting like a hound. Her heart nearly stopped right there as she remembered what Alma had said, before she had been so coldly murdered. "Eidan...no, it can't be..."

She clutched her daughters tightly to her, as the worgen leapt once again...

----

Eidan Zherron awoke with a start, equal parts scream and howl coming from his throat. He was at the house outside Goldshire, the house that had formerly belonged to Saavedro of Stratholme...another dead friend, another ghost in his life. Just like the ones he had just seen, thinking back on that fateful day.

It was the same nightmare, every night - it had been so since he had turned, since Jeremiah August's bite into his shoulder had made him into the same kind of monster that his loyal lieutenant had become. He sat up in the bed, putting his footpaws onto the floor, and looked down at his clawed hands. Though no one could see the blood on them, he could. Part of him wished that his people had followed Godfrey's advice and killed him, rather than administer Krennan's temporary cure.

Some people would say that was not his fault, he had been consumed by the animal instinct of the feral worgen. But he ignored them. Feral or no, it was his claws that did the deed.

And he would have to live with it...just as he had done, ever since that fateful day.