My little attempt at a story

[Nyrrytar]

What with all the personal upheaval I have going right now (my mother has cancer) I couldnt sleep. So I killed some time writing up this little ditty. Feedback for improvement is greatly appreciated. I call it Nyrr's Tale.

In The Drag of orgrimmar, there is a small hut, hidden from general view. It is generally considered by the populace a 'bad place' and generally avoided. Except today...
A figure in a dishevelled hooded cloak knocked at the blackened wood door before glacing over his shoulder, scanning the immediate area with his glowing golden eyes. There was a shuffling, then the door creaked open to reveal a Forsaken standing inside, dressed in a simple tattered robe.
'Yes? What do you want of me?' The voice was gutteral, scratchy, as if the owner had a terrible illness in his chest. The robed figure pushed inside and closed the door swiftly before removing his hood to reveal his smooth head, marked only by his Plague sores. He advanced on the robed one.
'Why have you abandoned the Dark Lady? Why have you turned your back upon your own people?' The robed undead scoffed.
'What business is it of yours?' He scanned the cloaked one. 'You cannot be very old or you may well have figured it out for yourself anyway, fool.' He then walked around the visitor to open the door. A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. Not looking, he waved, and the knife in the visitor's hand was frozen in air, surrounded by a nimbus of black energy.
'That is not a wise move, boy. I could kill you where you stand with a word.' His eyes tightened slightly. The visitor frowned, pulling at the blade once more before letting it go. The blade floated to the warlock who studied it, then smiled slightly.
'Beltal, come.'
'Yes, ok, whatever you say!' An imp cavorted into the room, and accepted the blade.
'Hold onto this until our...guest is ready to leave. And tea. Enough for both of us.' A loud raspberry floated across the room.
'Sure, and if anyone gets stuck, it'll be me!' A swift kick, and imp bounced out of the room, howling. The robed one paused, then turned to go sit at a small table, gesturing for the visitor to sit. He stood, however, and crossed his arms defiantly.
'The Forsaken do not require food. Or drink. Or even air. All we need for our survival is-'
'- the death of the Lich King and the living of Azeroth.' The robed one said. 'Do you honestly believe that?'
'We would be NOTHING without the Banshee Queen. She freed us!' The robed one shook his head.
'A clever piece of propaganda.' The visitor hissed. 'I have seen may things, been many places, and I understand much. You would do well to think for yourself, boy, before you are...unfortunate.'
'Blasphemy!' the visitor whispered, but his legs gave out and he fell into a chair. The imp, straining, heaved the tray of consumables onto the table, imaginatively cursing the warlock as it did so, suffering a cuff of an ear. The robed one took a cup in hand and poured the steaming tea from the pitcher. He then sipped before grabbing a round, fist sized fruit from the bowl in the center of the table.
'Skethyl berry?' The cloaked one, mutley, shook his head. 'Pity. An acquaintance of mine in the Consortium found I developed a taste for this odd fruit. As a show of thanks for helping me with a difficult assignment, he keeps me well stocked.' A pause.
'Where to begin, boy? I suppose the best place would be the beginning, eh?' A dry laugh.
*****
Dripping...water falling into a puddle. Echo...an enclosed place. So cold...
My eyes snap open. I am in a tomb, and I am dead. My breath does not fog in the cold, my heart does not beat. I can see the bones of my fingers and toes; the worms and rats have been busy. What has happened to me? I hear a voice...it says the remaining dead shall be tossed into the waiting fire. I scramble up the tomb steps, surprised that I am not heaving with the exertion, to see a person...wait...Scourge? What has happened? I look at my hands. Hysteria threatens. Then he speaks.
'Calm yourself. You have questions, go to the church. Someone there will answer you.' He points and I go, fearful and confused.
*****
The visitor spoke.
'I know this part of the story. We all do. Waking in the town of Deathknell, battling the Mindless Ones there, going to Brill. Why do you call the Dark Lady's plans for us 'propaganda'?'
The robed one swallowed a bite of skethyl.
'The town was called Miller's End. I lived there once. Before I was claimed by the Plague. The world was a very different place then. I was an adept to a court wizard at Lordaeron. When the Scourge came, I assisted my master and was sickened by the Plague. He was killed outright and I was left to die and turn. When I finally gave up the ghost' a wry grin 'I must have been placed in my town's graveyard. I do not know who did that kind act for me...I do recall seeing the corpse of my brother next to me. I do not know what happened to the rest of my family. I suppose they are agents of the Lich King.' The visitor tried to speak and was cut off.
'I know. Sylvanas says the past is irrelevent, that our future is what drives us. I believed as you do, for a time. Then I met a troll of the Darkspear tribe. He saved my life.'
*****
I am on the rolling hills of the Arathi Highlands. The giant I am fighting is massive. His koblod minions have fallen, but so has my demon. I am bloodied, my left arm is broken, and I can barely stand. Yet I still heave bolt after bolt of shadow at him, hoping that this one will drop him, and that I will meet my final end as a true Forsaken. A powerful hand swipes me, tossing me through the air. The drop to the unforgiving ground breaks my leg; I cannot stand. I feel the earth tremble as he walks to me to finish me off. The magic of the Plague will repair my broken form, but not fast enough to escape. The final strike never lands. I hear a bear growl, whistling of arrows, and a sudden earth shattering thud, then..silence. A whistle, then I see a blue two toed foot in front of my face.
'Mon, you be a sorry sight. Here, lean on me.' He throws my unbroken arm over his shoulder and we start to make way for Hammerfall.
'You be havin much mojo, mon, to be wearin t'e giant out dat way. He fall way quick, now. Me and Y'gi' he motions to the bear beside him that nuzzles my leg and whimpers'didna have ta be doin much to finish t'e job.'
'Leave me be, troll.' I snarl, as best I can.'I do not need the help of your kind.' Troll laughter greets my words.
'Ya, mon, we just be leavin ya here! Da raptors an da spidas be finishin da rock mon's job for him? B'sides, me an Y'gi know 'bout your kind. We membas a da Horde, an we help you out, dead mon or no.'
*****
'The Darkspear hate us' the visitor's voice is hollow 'why should he help you?'
'We are Horde. It was the first time, and not the last since I left Forsaken territory, that I have been aided by one who is living and does not trust me. I have many friends. Nev'wyn, the troll, F'rktis the orc, and a pair of Tauren from the Proudhoof Clan. I do not know their clan name, but they refer to themselves by nicknames...Kuna and Barfing. They are the reason I began to question the Dark Lady's words of blind hate of the living. Other than serving Thrall, they had no reason to aid me. And aid me they did, without rhyme or reason.

[Talonn-Shu'Halo]

Very well written. Very funny is spots too. I love how you have captured our naughty lil imp...LOL

I can not wait till you have more to show us.

[Dakotarick]

Very nice, please continue.

[Nyrrytar]

Alas, I cannot edit my tale, so I must repost the whole thing, plus a bit of new stuff. Hope you guys like it, once again, feedback is appreciated.

In The Drag of Orgrimmar, there is a small hut, hidden from general view. It is generally considered by the populace a 'bad place' and avoided.Except today...
A figure in a dishevelled hooded cloak knocked at the blackened wood door before glacing over his shoulder, scanning the immediate area with his glowing golden eyes. There was a shuffling, then the door creaked open to reveal a Forsaken standing inside, dressed in a simple tattered robe.
'Yes? What do you want of me?' The voice was gutteral, scratchy, as if the owner had a terrible illness in his chest. The robed figure pushed inside and closed the door swiftly before removing his hood to reveal his smooth head, marked only by his Plague sores. He advanced on the robed one.
'Why have you abandoned the Dark Lady? Why have you turned your back upon your own people?' The robed undead scoffed.
'What business is it of yours?' He scanned the cloaked one. 'You cannot be very old or you may well have figured it out for yourself anyway, fool.' He then walked around the visitor to open the door. A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. Not looking, he waved, and the knife in the visitor's hand was frozen in air, surrounded by a nimbus of black energy
'That is not a wise move, boy. I could kill you where you stand with a word.' His eyes tightened slightly. The visitor frowned, pulling at the blade once more before letting it go. The blade floated to the warlock who studied it, then smiled slightly as he closed the door.
'Beltal, come.'
'Yes, ok, whatever you say!' An imp cavorted into the room, and accepted the blade.
'Hold onto this until our...guest is ready to leave. And tea. Enough for both of us.' A loud raspberry floated across the room.
'Sure, and if anyone gets knifed, it'll be me!' A swift kick, and imp bounced out of the room, howling.
The robed one paused, then turned to go sit at a small table, gesturing for the visitor to sit. He stood, however, and crossed his arms defiantly.
'The Forsaken do not require food. Or drink.Or even air. All we need for our survival is-'
'- the death of the Lich King and the living of Azeroth.' The robed one said. 'Do you honestly believe that?'
'We would be NOTHING without the Banshee Queen. She freed us!' The robed one shook his head.
'A clever piece of propaganda.' The visitor hissed.
'I have seen may things, been many places, and I understand much. You would do well to think for yourself, boy, before you are...unfortunate.'
'Blasphemy!' the visitor whispered, but his legs gave out and he fell into a chair. The imp, straining, heaved the tray of consumables onto the table, imaginatively cursing the warlock as it did so, suffering a cuff of an ear. The robed one took a cup in hand and poured the steaming tea from the pitcher. He then sipped before grabbing a round, fist sized fruit from the bowl in the center of the table.
'Skethyl berry?' The cloaked one, mutley, shook his head. 'Pity.An acquaintance of mine in the Consortium found I developed a taste for this odd fruit. As a show of thanks for helping him with a difficult assignment, he keeps me well stocked.' A pause.
Where to begin, boy? I suppose the best place would be the beginning, eh?' A dry laugh.
*****
Dripping...water falling into a puddle. Echo...an enclosed place. So cold...
My eyes snap open.I am in a tomb, and I am dead. My breath does not fog in the cold, my heart does not beat. I can see the bones of my fingers and toes; the worms and rats have been busy. What has happened to me? I hear a voice...it says the remaining dead shall be tossed into the waiting fire. I scramble up the tomb steps, surprised that I am not heaving with the exertion, to see a person...wait...Scourge? What has happened? I look at my hands. Hysteria threatens. Then he speaks.
'Calm yourself. You have questions, go to the church. Someone there will answer you.' He points and I go, fearful and confused.
*****
The visitor spoke.
'I know this part of the story. We all do. Waking in the town of Deathknell, battling the Mindless Ones there, going to Brill. Why do you call the Dark Lady's plans for us 'propaganda'?'
The robed one swallowed a bite of skethyl.
'The town was called Miller's End. I lived there once. Before I was claimed by the Plague. The world was a very different place then. I was an adept to a court wizard at Lordaeron. When the Scourge came, I assisted my master and was sickened by the Plague. He was killed outright and I was left to die and turn. When I finally gave up the ghost' a wry grin 'I must have been placed in the town graveyard. I do not know who did that kind act for me...I do recall seeing the corpses of my brother and sister next to me. I do not know what happened to the rest of my family. I suppose they are agents of the Lich King.'The visitor tried to speak and was cut off.
'I know. Sylvanas says the past is irrelevent, that our future is what drives us. I believed as you do, for a time. Then I met a troll of the Darkspear tribe. He saved my life.'
*****
I am on the rolling hills of the Arathi Highlands. The giant I am fighting is massive. His kobold minions have fallen, but so has my demon. I am bloodied, my left arm is broken, and I can barely stand. Yet I still heave bolt after bolt of shadow at him, hoping that this one will drop him, and that I will meet my final end as a true Forsaken. A powerful hand swipes me, tossing me through the air. The drop to the unforgiving ground breaks my leg; I cannot stand. I feel the earth tremble as he walks closer to finish me off. The magic of the Plague will repair my broken form, but not fast enough to escape. The final strike never lands. I hear a bear growl, whistling of arrows, and a sudden earth shattering thud, then..silence. A low whistle, then I see a blue two toed foot in front of my face.
'Mon, you be a sorry sight. Here, lean on me.' He throws my unbroken arm over his shoulder and we start to make way for Hammerfall.
'You be havin much mojo, mon, to be wearin t'e giant out dat way. He fall way quick, now. Me and Y'gi' he motions to the bear beside him that nuzzles my leg and whimpers 'didna have ta be doin much to finish t'e job.'
'Leave me be, troll.' I snarl, as best I can. 'I do not need the help of your kind.' Troll laughter greets my defiant words.
'Ya, mon, we just be leavin ya here! Da raptors an da spidas be finishin da rock mon's job for him? B'sides, me an Y'gi know 'bout your kind. We membas a da Horde, an we help you out, dead mon or no.'
*****
'The Darkspear hate us' the visitor's voice is hollow, 'why should he help you?'
'We are Horde. It was the first time, and not the last since I left Forsaken territory, that I have been aided by one who is living and does not trust me. I have many friends. Nev'wyn, the troll, Vrukt's the orc, and a pair of Tauren from the Warhoof Clan. I do not know their clan name, but they refer to themselves by nicknames...Kyuna and Bar'ig. They are the reason I began to question the Dark Lady's words of blind hate of the living. Other than serving Thrall, they had no reason to aid me. And aid me they did. I have also taken others under my wing,as a...mentor, if you will. A young troll shaman named Sukutaklu, and a trio of blood elf siblings of the Duskstalker family, Reon, Sylarrys, and Medyr.'
'Tell me more.'
'After the troll helped me, I had to spend some time healing my wounds. I had nothing else to do as my shattered form healed except think. I had correspondence with Vol'jin of the Darkspear, as well as Thrall' an angry hiss escapes the visitor, causing the robed one to smirk and shake his head, 'and they...enlightened me to certain facts. Lady Sylvannas was the first to escape the control of the Lich King, that part is true.'
'Praise to the Dark Lady!!'
'Be silent for once, Kelder!' A look of aghast amazemant.' Yes, brother, I know it is you. As ever, you are stubborn and refuse to listen! The Forsaken were gathered by the Dark Lady, but we were freed for the iron will of Ner'zhul by the attack that Illidan launched against Northrend. I also do not trust her advisor, Varimathras, or the Apothacary Society's New Plague.'
'You go too far, Nyrrytar! These blasphemous lies....!!' Kelder's voice fell silent.
'You suspected it, or you wouldn't have sought me out. The people of The Undercity used to speak the name of the Dark Lady, Varimathras, and mine together. I chose exile, rather that continue living in the webs of conspiricy.'Another sip of tea, a bite of skethyl berry, then another cup is poured and pushed into Kelder's nerveless hands. 'Have some, please.'
'What else have you seen?' A whisper, hungry for more knowledge.
'I know that you have heard of the Culling of the Scarlet Monestary, and I am revered as cleansing the cathedral and returning it to the Forsaken. The true tale is far different
*****
I am young still, full of the words of the Forsaken. The living races of the Horde are to be used as tools to accomplish our goals. The goal I am set upon now is to destroy the leadership of the Scarlet Crusade in their own home, the 'holy' Monestary. I go into this den of hatred with four other young Horde, two trolls, a tauren, and an orc. At the time they were not important, so I never asked for their names...foolish of me, really. We have cleansed the graveyard with relative ease and killed the reanimated bloodmage in the catacombs. I watch as the orc, a hunter of some considerable skill, dives in front of his wolf to save the beast from a frostbolt aimed for its head. I scoff at his weakness, mentally marking it as a way to deal crippling damage to hunters. We then advance, our own little army, into the library. The monks and mages of the Crusade can't stand before us, yet I observe, several times, the tauren, a druid, use his mastery of nature to heal the wounds of the injured. Why help heal these insects? I also catalogued that as a way to battle druids. When we get to Doan's sanctum, we destroy the archmage. His robe is salvageable, and the others give it to me as a token of friendship. I accept their gift with a disdainful smile. We rest in the newly reclaimed library, the others eating and drinking, as I acquire tomes for the Dark Lady, as well as for my own personal edification. Then, our next objective. The armory, and Herod.
And here another small seed of questioning was planted. Herod, the 'mighty' Champion of the Crusade, hulking beast of a human, stood before us, unguarded but not undefended. He is killed, but I am felled in the battle, my skull split open. Darkness consumes me, my mind empties. Then the world returns to my eyes, dried ichor and a headache are the only remnants of my recent experience with the void. Looking around, I see the human animal dead, and I feast upon his flesh and bones to rejuvinate myself. I wipe my mouth, looking to see how many of my tools still stand, to see them looking over their shoulders at me while they check on the troll priest who is wan and pale. I feel ashamed for the first time since I acquired my demons and power. I stand and mutter, then with a stronger voice, tell them the job is not yet finished. They look to the priest, who nods, then they acknowledge me as we move for the library door, and our final task: the cathedral.
*****
At the time, I scoffed at the orc and his weakness. Why would he risk his own life for a dumb animal? Why would the tauren bother to save the others to his own detriment? Now I understand. My underlying goal was to feed my ambition by relaying my information about these living to Sylvannas. I was so young, I didn't stop to think that she would already have acquired this information. Yet I so wanted to curry her favor!
At any rate, here the story is well known among the Forsaken. Nyrrytar, Master of the Shadow, Lord of the Fel, The Hammer of Sylvannas, strides into the cathedral and steals the souls of Scarlet Commander Mograine and High Inquisitor Whitemane, and feeds these souls to his demon thralls. Yes, it makes a fetching story; alas, it did not happen that way.
*****
We enter the cathedral with an air of cautious curiousity. In an effort to aid my tools in battle, I use a secret warlock spell and create a soulstone on the priest. He is not aware of the demonic energy binding his soul to this realm of existance, but should he fall in battle quickly, the stone will resurrect him. In order to win back some of my tools' favor I create a small green stone for each that they can eat to heal themselves, should they require it. They accept the stones, but the trolls give me a sidelong look as they do so. I summon Disneri, my succubus, to aid us in our battle. She smiles seductively at the troll shaman, and he forks her the evil eye, much to my amusement. We take our time, killing the underlings of the Crusade, when the orc's wolf scents something behind a wall. We find a hidden switch and find hidden in a dark, cobwebbed alcove...
A Forsaken. A member of the Crusade who was plague ridden and curiously walled up, instead of killed. Another seed was planted, this one from my past. I didn't know it at the time, but it was Fairbanks. He was once a powerful cleric before the Scourge came, wandering the Eastern Kingdoms, doing good for many people, including my father. He was too powerful for the puny humans of the Crusade to deal with so...out of sight, out of mind. We did their dirty work for them. Had I known this, who he was, I would have left him where he was, lying in the dust. His past life accorded him that much.
Truely, in the battle with the 'final' masters of the crusade, all I did was corrupt their minds, burn their bodies, and curse them. The druid and shaman hacked them down. The one piece of the tale that is true, however, is that i DID take their souls and fed them to my demons.
*****

[Desann]

Haha, this story is great lol.
You should do more.