Simply put, I am going to write and ending to Deathwing's story how I would have made it end. I'm a beginner at this whole thing but I plan of giving it a shot anyways. Here is the teaser/intro I hammered out in about half of an hour. I hope you like it!
Rage. Fury. Hate. Spite. It didn’t matter what it was, they all swirled around me like a howling tempest, blurring the lines between reality and fiction and making the passage of time fuzzy. I was a prisoner in my own body, shackled to my inner sanctum that none could pierce. It was much like a boulder in a river, the rapids pounding away at the rock for ever and ever and ever, slowing eroding my final bastion of sanity. The vile forces seethed and roiled around me, they had already enslaved the rest of my body, corrupting the flesh, the sinew, the bone, the claws and the horns to suit their own despicable needs and fulfill their own sinister goals. It had happened all so fast, what all the others thought of a gradual fall into madness was a night-time raid into the depths of my psyche, I had been caught unawares.
All I could do was flee to my hidden sanctuary and pray to Khaz’goroth that I could fight back, that I could be free once again. After all the horrendous things I had to witness, the abominations that were created by my captors but not by my will. Any other might have been driven truly insane, but with the might of the earth I managed to endure. The time was nigh, I had to fight for myself, for Azeroth, and as I cast my eye outwards for a mere moment I saw that my puppet-body was assaulting Wyrmrest Temple.
It was now or never, but I couldn’t do it on my own. In that mere moment I had noticed the adventurers, some were veterans, some had saved Azeroth before, and some were new to the art of war, but they were my last chance, my last hope, my only path to Salvation, to Redemption.
Rage. Fury. Hate. Spite. It didn’t matter what it was, they all swirled around me like a howling tempest, blurring the lines between reality and fiction and making the passage of time fuzzy. I was a prisoner in my own body, shackled to my inner sanctum that none could pierce. It was much like a boulder in a river, the rapids pounding away at the rock for ever and ever and ever, slowing eroding my final bastion of sanity. The vile forces seethed and roiled around me, they had already enslaved the rest of my body, corrupting the flesh, the sinew, the bone, the claws and the horns to suit their own despicable needs and fulfill their own sinister goals. It had happened all so fast, what all the others thought of a gradual fall into madness was a night-time raid into the depths of my psyche, I had been caught unawares.
All I could do was flee to my hidden sanctuary and pray to Khaz’goroth that I could fight back, that I could be free once again. After all the horrendous things I had to witness, the abominations that were created by my captors but not by my will. Any other might have been driven truly insane, but with the might of the earth I managed to endure. The time was nigh, I had to fight for myself, for Azeroth, and as I cast my eye outwards for a mere moment I saw that my puppet-body was assaulting Wyrmrest Temple.
It was now or never, but I couldn’t do it on my own. In that mere moment I had noticed the adventurers, some were veterans, some had saved Azeroth before, and some were new to the art of war, but they were my last chance, my last hope, my only path to Salvation, to Redemption.
