World of Warcraft®

((Here is part one of my very first character story ever! I hope you enjoy.))

It was dusk out, but Rhoest was deep in the Barracks, collecting his belongings after having said goodbye to Tyrynna for the night and for a few days. It was she who the man was going the miss the most, he had hoped she might have come along, but she was a busy woman and he understood that.

As soon as Rhoest turned the corner that led out of the Barracks he uttered a heavy sigh. He fished the crumpled letter out of his pack, standing in front of the Barracks with his bags at his sides, and read over it once more, he strained his eyes to see in the twilight of the dusk.
He’d memorized it by now but letters from his Mother were few and far between so he read it for what must have been the thousandth time.

It had arrived just one day prior and was your typical letter, filled with ramblings about the recent happenings and the weather and the like—except for one thing: a request for Rhoest to visit her. Now that was rare indeed, especially when his father despised him so because of his Curse. But that was beside the matter, his Mother was the only relative he knew that earnestly care for him and so, without permission from his superiors, he was off to visit their estate for a day and a half—or more.

Orwyn might skin him for it, but something just nagged at him, whispering in his ear about how he should, no needed, to go despite what might await him. He was already packed, anyways, and he wasn’t turning back no matter what might happen. His family was some of the few remaining human refugees from Gilneas and they were hidden away in the terrain around Astranaar. His family had decent lodging there. It was far from the opulent manor they had owned back in Northern Glineas but it was cozy—to most everyone but Rhoest himself.

Before he could second-guess himself Rhoest began the long journey to Astranaar, first by boat from the Stormwind Bay to the great elven city of Darnassus and then, after a short stay in the city, by horse down to the fair town itself. The trip in itself was fairly uneventful, almost to the point of being dull, with Rhoest having nothing to keep himself entertained but the clop-clopping of his steed’s hooves, the ever changing scenery, and his thoughts which weren’t great company.

He had gotten himself lost the first time he made the trip, landing himself somewhere in Felwood, a thought that made him shudder as it was far from fun being in an alien and blighted land during the night. Fortunately that wasn’t the case this time around; he had the route pretty well memorized, and Rhoest made great time.

It was midday when Rhoest stood outside the gothic wrought iron gates of the house, with dark clouds and an ominous low fog signifying an imminent storm. The manor was out of place in the mystical atmosphere of Ashenvale. In his arrogance, or denial of the Gilnean exodus, Rhoest’s father had used what gold he had managed to bring with him to build the structure in iconic Gilnean architecture.

Rhoest, in his usual human guise, easily slipped through the gates, having left his mount and belongings at the local inn. Steeling himself he approached the closed oaken door, standing on the steps and raising his hand to knock. It was here that he paused, a thousand doubts raining down on him like a volley of arrows loosed from archers in a great army.

Memories flashed through his head, memories of hate, of rejection, of spite, of loneliness absolute desolation, all of them caused by his Father’s short-sightedness and loathing of anything Worgen.

Worst of all Rhoest could relate with him, because deep down he hated himself, he hated the Curse that afflicted his body and mind. He was a Wolfbane whose entire upbringing was centered on one thing: the eradication of Worgen, it's what he had done and what his family had done since the Curse began. It was by his own stupid mistake that had gotten him into this predicament in the first place… oh the lives he might have taken when feral… from that his Father could even be justified in his actions. Snapping out of his brooding state Rhoest took a deep breath and passed the first of many trials facing him that day, he knocked on the door.

((Quick! I want to know what happens next! Great job so far Rhoest, better hope you don't run into the Lt. here on her way back to the city hah!))

ooc- thanks for posting this. i always enjoy the rp stories.

((Mooooooore. The Staircase Elf, she craves mooooooooore! :P))

((I enjoyed this one as well. ^^ Awesome work!))

Rhoest’s fist made a dull thump against the heavy oak door as he rapped his knuckles tersely against it. No reply came and a serious urge to simply run away and never come back came over him. Quelling the dark feeling Rhoest repeated the action and waited patiently, the calm outwards demeanor veiling his inner turmoil. He heard a the thunk-thunk of heavy footsteps slowly approaching the door from the other side, Rhoest likened to the feeling a murderer might get when the execution walked up the block and he knew his death was rapidly approaching.

With a rattle the knob turned and the hinges of the door creaked as the door swung inwards. There stood a short, formal, and male servant in the doorway, a new addition since the last time Rhoest had visited, making the tense Worgen breathe a sigh of relief; he wasn’t going to have to face his father just yet.

“And you are?” The servant queried in a thick Gilnean accent. Rhoest should have expected that, his father wouldn’t have stood for a servant of any other stock.

“Rhoest, Rhoest Wolfbane.” He replied simply, his own voice having a slight accent even after all the time he’d spent in Stormwind.

The servant gave him a critical look with one eyebrow raised, appraising him. After a pause the man gave a curt bow, murmuring “Let fetch the Lady of the House,” before striding in the depths of the small manor. It was another blessing, Rhoest thought; he wouldn’t have to face his Father just yet.

After what seemed to be an agonizingly long time, a few short minutes in reality, he could the hear the thunk-thunk of the servant’s footsteps followed by a lighter pair, making the already on-edge Rhoest tremble slightly with barely contained emotion.

There before him in the long hallway and trailing behind the servant was his Mother. She was a fair woman who was in her middle fifties with nothing to show for it but slivering hair that hung just under the shoulder-blades and pleasant laugh lines. Although she carried herself in a sort of regal manner her slender body had a mothering aura that practically emanated from her, filled with both kindness and compassion and also the sternness that mothering sometimes required. She had a faint smile about her lips that broadened as soon as she caught sight of her son. The servant gave another curt bow before retreating back into the manor.

Salty tears welled up in Rho’s eyes as he choked up, here was the one person in his family that he could completely depend on and someone he hadn’t seen for well over a year. He just couldn’t contain himself and, before his Mother could even speak, he rushed forward, shouting a joyous, if somewhat garbled “Mama!” with his arms wide open. He brought her into an embrace that spoke more words than their letters ever had. It was quite the strange way for a grown man to greet a parent.

His Mother only chuckled, one arm looping around to return the fond embrace. “I missed you, Son.” She said, her voice soft and gentle, the same tone she used when she used to tuck him in at night and read to him till his lids felt like they had lead weights and he slipped into a deep sleep, feeling loved.

It took Rhoest quite the effort to speak again, still hugging her he only coughed out a hasty “I missed you too.” After a minute or so of silence between the two Rhoest regained enough composure to pull away and straighten his back.

“Now, let us get inside.” His Mother said, looking up to the sky, which was just as turbulent as clashing emotions within Rhoest, “It might storm any moment now and I’m not fond of getting wet.” She chuckled softly.

Rhoest nodded, “After you then, Mother.” He smiled a genuine smile, something that few could get from him. He followed his mother as she led him through the dark hall, paneled with a richly colored wood that made the entire hallway smell almost spicy. It reminded him of carefree summers spent under the sun.

“Your Father is out for the day on errands, he won’t be back ‘till later tonight.” His mother stated, knowing just what her son was thinking. It was another blessing, more time for him to prepare for the inevitable encounter. “Until then, let’s have a hot meal and talk in the living room, we have much to catch up on.”

Rhoest couldn’t have been happier in hearing that. The living room he was guided to was richly furnished with plush chairs and a couch that could easily sit four with room to spare. And so it was there they sat. The servant, whose named he learned was Trent when his Mother called for him, had served up a hot meal of consisting of meat pies, a sort of soup, and cider not an hour later.

((Con't next post))

It was in that room that they sat, Mother and Son, well into the evening. The storm had unleashed its full fury in howling wind and torrential downpour, but inside the two talked for hours on end, till the sky was dark and the day old, sharing stories and otherwise catching up about the previous year. He told her about Tyrynna, she told him about the Elves, he told him about Stormwind and the Guard, she told him about Astranaar and the wildlife of Ashenvale.

It would have been perfect except for when a whinny of a horse broke through the pattering rain. He heard Trent thunk-thunk down the hallway, the creak of the door that let in the tempest outside, intelligible words and then the deep, gruff voice he had been dreading to hear.

“What is that mutt doing in MY house!?”

((Typing this in a rush! Sorry for any mistakes!))

The sound of angry footsteps echoed down the hallway and into the room that Rhoest and his Mother were in, cursing and muttering could be heard as well as the clang of something metal falling over into the hallway.

“Where are you, you mongrel, how dare you come into my house invited! How dare you!” His Father’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Trent! Where is he?!”

Rhoest cast a frightened look to his Mother, who liked scared herself. She was pale like all the blood had left her and her face was drawn, a fact that didn’t comfort Rhoest in the least. “H—he shouldn’t be the angry!?” She whispered, looking bewildered, “I’ve never seen him this upset!”

It was true, every other time Rho had visited his Father he had been icy, quiet, and distant, avoiding direct interaction with Rhoest. Instead he just made it painfully obvious that he wasn’t welcome, never had he shown such hostility, such absolute hatred.

The clomping of heavy soled boots grew louder and his father turned the corner. He was a tall man dressed in riding attire, which was damp from the rain, with the sleeves rolled up, showing off thick forearms with scars accumulated from years of fighting and hard work. He had broad shoulders and toned legs. On his head was graying brown hair cut to just above the ear and below that a normally handsome, yet worn, face.

But fury marred that face worse than any blemish. It carved his lips into a hateful sneer and gave his eyes a hard glare that could pierced into Rhoest’s soul. “What the hell do you think you are doing here, mutt?” He spat the word out, as if it were an apple that turned out to be sour and had a worm in it. He didn’t respect Rhoest enough to say his name.

“He’s visiting me, Carick—“Rhoest’s Mother said softly. She was cowed from speaking further when his Father shot her an angry look that barely hid a seething scorn.

“Under your invitation, Allera?” He asked, but he already knew, and Allera’s cheeks flushed slightly with an embarrassed red, betraying her further.

Carick turned to his son, his face screwing up into a poorly constructed mask that thinly veiled his rancor. “Damn it! I told you not to come back! And why did you? You are not welcome here!”

Rhoest stared at the floor, at a total loss for words. It had all happened so fast, one moment he was sharing chatter with his Mother, as a real family should, the next he was subject to his Father’s scathing abhorrence. He was shocked and he could even muster a retort.

“Carick… He’s your son.” Allera murmured a feeble defense for him.

“He stopped being my son when he stepped into that damn forest, when that filthy beast passed that despicable disease onto him and made him one of those… those… abominations!” Carick shouted, making Rhoest flinch as each and every word stung like a hard slap to his face. “I should have put him down like the dog he is when he came to our doorstep with not a copper to call his own. And to think you care for that… aberration.”

Rhoest’s own angry started to boil up in him. He could take his Father’s abuse, but when he started to insult his Mother that crossed the proverbial line. It was his turn to be angry, it had been a long time ago, and finally he found his words as he spoke. “Father, you are a man so blinded by your hate, your resentment, that you can’t see anything else but a monster—“

“At least I’m a man.” Carick spat. Rhoest simply shrugged it off and kept speaking.

“—I’m still your son, the one you cared for, the one you would so fondly remark as a strong boy who as quick with a sword as he was with his mind. I’m still the same boy, I may have this Curse but here I am, can’t you see me as the boy you raised?” Rhoest had begun the sentence with an angry tone but by the end he sounded pleading. It was recognition he craved, nothing else, to be seen as human by his father. “You’re stuck in the days before the Exodus, you have to give up the past! Look around you, a house made as if we were still in Gilneas, with furnishings in the same style, are you so far in denial that you stay stuck in your own world that you can’t recognize you son for the man he is?”

But it was futile; Rhoest’s words fell on empty ears. “Get out.” His father growled. “I don’t want to see you here ever again, next time I’ll run you through with the blade I’ve killed so many other Worgen with, you’re no better than them anyways.”

Allera gasped, a horrified expression written all over her face as she leaped to her feet. “No! I won’t let you! He will stay here as long as he wishes it!” She said firmly, getting the spine back that Rhoest knew she had.

The results were immediate his Father’s hate reared its ugly head. Carick whirled towards her, swinging a balled fist which collided with Rhoest’s Mother.

Allera yelped out in pain as the fist smacked right into her temple and went tumbling to the floor like a sack of potatoes, sprawled out in a mess of hair, body, and dress. She looked unconscious when Rhoest glanced at her, now there was no turning back. He looked at his Father, bestial rage surging upwards from the innermost caverns of his body. Rage that he normally kept under lock and key and hidden away. Rage that he avoided like the undead Plague.

Rhoest uttered a feral growl, the inner animal exposing itself in the wild look in his eyes. “You’re going to regret that.” He voice grew darker. His Father simply smirked, and it was then that Rhoest truly knew hate. He underwent the change into Worgen, body exploding outwards as the human Rhoest lost his grip on his bodily form. The wolfen Rhoest strode forward to the smirking man, a furred fist grabbing him by the shirt and lifting him up. Rhoest pivoted to the side and slammed Carick against the wall.

“Do your worst.” His Father said flatly, the ugly look still carved on his features. “I do not fear you, mutt.”

Rhoest tightened his fist, raising his arm and getting his face close to his Fathers. He uttered a deep growl, fury in his eyes as he spoke. His voice was gruff. “Do you know what it’s like to be like this? It’s something I have to live with every single day of my life, and something that is going to stay with me until the day I die.”

“You deserve it.”

Rhoest snarled and slammed him against the wall as well. “You do too…” He grinned devilishly, “Perhaps I should show you what it’s like…” He snickered fiendishly and snapped his jaws close as the full weight of what he was implying took effect on his Father.

It was the first time Rhoest had seen true fear on the man’s face, in his eyes, and Rhoest reveled in it. The blood was sucked out of Carick’s face, leaving a ghostly white complexion instead and a slack jaw. “Y—you wouldn’t.” His Father managed, shaken to the core by the implications.

“I would.” Rhoest forcefully replied. “But I’m better than you. I won’t sink to your level.” He let go of his Father’s shirt, letting him slid down the wall to limply lie against the wall. Rhoset looked down at him condescendingly, Carick devoid of any real resistance by now. “You hear that! This mutt is better than you! This mutt won’t sink to your pitiful level! This mutt is the son that is more moral than you! This mutt is your son, and your son is better than you” He shouted, his grip on sentience slipping and hysteria taking hold. “This mutt will return if he ever hears about you laying a hand on his Mother again!” He kicked the man, making him cough as he lost his breath.

“And if he returns he might not be so forgiving of his Father!” He screamed, the last word ringing with sarcasm. He kicked Corick again for good measure, his mind a swirling tempest that matched the one outside the house, making his slip on sanity all the slicker. He turned, hastily making his way toward the exit, Trent nowhere to be seen, as Rhoest recognized that soon he wouldn’t be Rhoest anymore, instead a damned feral doomed to wander Ashenvale for who knows how long ‘til the real Rhoest fought his way back up from the darkest reaches of his soul.

He burst through the entryway and out into the stormy night, dropping to all fours and sprinted away, trying to get himself as far away from the manor before the was completely lost to the bestial instincts of the Worgen. Salty tears mixed with cool rain that stained his face, the last that could be heard of him was a desolate howl that echoed of sorrow and utter rejection. He was no longer Rhoest. He was Feral.

((...wow. Brilliantly written, and...wow. Very emotionally charged, very gripping story. Awesome work, Rho!))

((All's well that ends well. Now at least. Good story!))

--ooc this was a really good story. thanks for posting it--