Post by Aldored on Nov 29, 2009 22:39:53 GMT -5
((This is a story from Aldored's past of a few months ago, IC. I've been writing a lot, as I'm trying to improve my dismal writing skills. So, er, yay for that.))
They had been traveling since noon, and now the sun was starting to set. Still, most in the group were in good spirits and trekked along the path towards Duskwood without breaking stride. Some joked with one another, swapping stories and jabs. Others took in the scenery around them with the almost disinterested expression a veteran of many journeys through the countryside would give.
Aldored, while taking in the scenery, didn't look uninterested or bored. In fact, he seemed on edge. They were about an hour away from entering the darkened forests of Duskwood, and an hour from now the sun would be gone. Silently, he wished the men would quiet down. He didn't relish the possibility of alerting the things that resided in those forests so close to nightfall.
The closer they got to Duskwood, the more Aldored wished he hadn't accepted the job. The offer had come to him from a merchant he had met in a bar in Stormwind. All he would have to do was guard the man's trading caravan, along with a few other hired blades, from Stormwind to Darkshire and he would be paid a nice pouch full of gold. Aldored was drunk at the time, as usual, and conveniently didn't hear the word 'Darkshire'. As he now saw the thick, dead forest looming ahead of him, he wished he had.
The caravan consisted of the head merchant, Osric, his two sons, and three hired blades including Aldored. The goods being guarded were contained in a large wagon pulled by a team of mules. From what Aldored had gathered, Osric was being paid by a higher-up in Stormwind to deliver supplies to Darkshire as a show of good-faith from the King. Of course, it was just that; a 'show' of good-faith. Supplies didn't mean much to Darkshire. They needed more men to help them fight the undead and other abominations, not supplies that would be used up within a week and then forgotten.
"Look sharp, lads! Only a few hours walk 'till we get to Darkshire. I've arranged for ya'll to be taken back to Stormwind on gryphons. Ye'll eat well tonight!"
Aldored resisted the urge to bury his face in his palm. If that moron, Osric, didn't shut up the only way they were going to get to Darkshire would be in the belly of a worg. He rested his hand on the handle of the dagger strapped to his belt. He pulled at the straps that kept his great-axe secured to his back, reaching over his back to pull it free. "The rest of this group may be idiots", he thought to himself, "but I'm not going to die if I can help it."
The forests of Duskwood were eerily quiet. The few leaves remaining on the barren trees didn't sway in the slightest, and no breeze beckoned them to do so. While the forest wasn't thick, it was difficult to see past the other edges, due to the increasing darkness. The men became as quiet as the forest, now understanding why they were the only ones to take the job.
All of them, except one.
"Oh, the mayor will be so glad to see us. He'll probably give us a big commendation, treat us as heroes he will! 'The Saviors of Darkshire' we'll be called. Ah, I can imagine the banquets now..." Osric boasted loudly, his over-sized mustache bouncing as he spoke.
"I hope a worg kills that overfed fool before I have to." Aldored muttered to himself. Another mercenary walking opposite of Aldored snickered at his comment, giving him a smile that faded quickly as the unsettling scenery was looked upon once again.
Snap
Quickly, Aldored along with the rest of the group whirled around. Something had disturbed the underbrush. Something that was behind them. Nothing was visible in the dark forest, a looming mist now settling over the ground as night approached. Quite a few of the men shuttered before turning around and resuming their trek, glancing back every now and then. Even Osric's fat face, which was normally a rosy shade of red, went pale.
"Just a little critter I'm sure!" Osirc said, his voice wavering.
Aldored's fingers clung to the handle of his axe. He doubted that a squirrel or such was what had made the noise. Those cheerful creatures had abandoned this place long ago for greener pastures.
Snap
Everyone whirled around once again, this time to the left. Obviously, they were being hunted by more than one creature.
"Just the wind, lads!" Came Osric's voice. The stale, almost stifling feeling of the forest belied his reassuring comments.
Suddenly, a pack of worgs came tearing through the forest. Large, vicious wolves with black pelts and slavering maws. Two came from behind, while three more came from the left.
Aldored turned to meet the two coming from behind, his axe raised above his head. The others had turned to meet those coming from the side, leaving Aldored alone.
With a yell, he brought the axe down towards the worg's head, cleaving it in two, causing its brains to splatter across his face. He quickly tried to dislodge the axe from its skull, bracing his boot against its now mutilated face. The other worg, seeing its comrade fall so quickly, leaped at Aldored.
He turned his head just in time to see the worg, already in mid-air, leaping for him. He gave the axe one more pull in vain before accepting the painful impact that was about to come.
He felt his ribs break upon impact as the large creature's claws sank into his chest. He was slammed heavily against the dirt path, knocking the wind out of him.
He brought his hands up to push back against the worg's face in an attempt to hold it at bay. The creatures snapped and thrashed as Aldored's hands clasped around its neck, covering him with spittle. It was only inches from his face, staring into Aldored's wide eyes. As if a lantern came on in his head, he grinned. He swung a heavy boot into the worg's groin. With a squeal, it fell off of him and onto the ground.
With a groan of pain, Aldored stood up. In a second, and successful attempt, he wrenched his axe free of the worg's skull in time to bring it down upon the one now prone on the ground. With a satisfying squelch he separated its head from its haunches.
Clutching his ribs, Aldored turned to see how the others were doing. He saw Osric's body growing stiff on the ground, along with one of the mercenary's and a worg. He made his way for them, still clutching his ribs with a hand while blood poured from his chest.
Osric's two sons were hiding under the wagon, covering their heads with their hands and screaming. The two mules, which were still harnessed to the wagon, whinnied and lept towards the air. The remaining mercenary was holding his ground against the two worgs, but would soon be overwhelmed.
With a roar, Aldored brought his other hand to grasp his axe and charged. He brought his axe down on one of the worgs now nipping at the mercenary's heels, hoping to catch it unaware. Unfortunately, the beast was more intelligent than he had anticipated, and it lept out of the way, snarling.
He heard the mercenary cry in pain, and he knew that he had died. He yelled a command for Osric's sons to help him, but they remained sniveling and praying beneath the wagon. He brought his axe back once again and felt it bite into flesh. The worg's legs were separated from its body as it fell, flopping helplessly against the blood stained path.
The remaining worg stared Aldored down, studying him for weakness. Wheezing, Aldored leaned forward, having trouble breathing through his constricted and bleeding chest. Still, he put on a grim face and rested his axe over his shoulder, readying himself for the worg's pending charge.
The creature, a malevolent intelligence in its eyes, gave Aldored a look of cold hatred before turning and running back into the darkened forest. With a grunt, Aldored doubled over, his broken ribs piercing into his lungs. His vision blurred, and soon turned to black.
He awoke to the sound of voices. What they were saying, he couldn't tell. His eyes slowly batted open, his eyes adjusting to the light. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his chest brought him back down to the straw mat on which he lay.
"Looks like he's awake, doctor," said a female voice.
"So it does, child," said a male voice that sounded as if it belonged to someone of great age.
An elderly man approached, his head bald and a long, tangled white beard sprouting from his wrinkled face.
"You're lucky to be alive, young man," said the old man. "Not many can survive an attack from the worgs of these cursed woods."
Aldored didn't pay any attention to what the man was saying. He only wanted to know one thing: "Where are those two scumbags?"
The old man laughed. "Oh, the two trader boys? They're back in Stormwind, lad. I'm assuming they didn't assist you when your party came under attack?"
Scowling, Aldored slowly began to sit up, grimacing as he did so. "Hardly."
The old man still smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulled out a flask filled with a red liquid. "Well, most of that birth don't do well with combat. It's to be expected..."
"Yes, leaving your comrades to die is to be expected." Aldored said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
The old man clicked his tongue. "Now now, I don't think they were your comrades, boy. You were supposed to be protecting them! Not they protecting you!" He said while unscrewing the lid to the flask.
Aldored continued scowling, but said nothing.
"I want you to drink this. It will help speed up the healing process. A priest would do better, but I'm afraid we don't have any in this light forsaken place." The elderly man handed the flask to Aldored.
Aldored looked from the flask to the old man, as if trying to see if it was a trap, before drinking it down in one gulp. It tasted awful, and his face revealed that.
The old man laughed. "It's better than dying, lad." He began walking towards the door, which a young woman held open. "A gryphon has been arranged to take you back to Stormwind, you should leave within the hour." He turned around. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. Your payment is with your clothes at the end of your mat. Those two boys left it for you before they departed." And with that, the old man left the room.
With a groan, Aldored shifted his legs so that his feet touched the floor. Looking down, he realized his entire chest was wrapped in bandages. His breathing still felt constricted, but he could feel the potion already spreading warmth throughout his body.
He stood up, gathering his things and pulling his now semi-shredded jerkin back over his head. Picking up his earnings he frowned. Of course, they had shorted him a few gold. Without him conscious to beat them within an inch of their life, he guessed he was lucky to have been paid at all.
He made his way out the door and towards the gryphon master, knowing that when he reached Stormwind a cold drink and hot meal would be waiting for him at the first tavern he saw.
They had been traveling since noon, and now the sun was starting to set. Still, most in the group were in good spirits and trekked along the path towards Duskwood without breaking stride. Some joked with one another, swapping stories and jabs. Others took in the scenery around them with the almost disinterested expression a veteran of many journeys through the countryside would give.
Aldored, while taking in the scenery, didn't look uninterested or bored. In fact, he seemed on edge. They were about an hour away from entering the darkened forests of Duskwood, and an hour from now the sun would be gone. Silently, he wished the men would quiet down. He didn't relish the possibility of alerting the things that resided in those forests so close to nightfall.
The closer they got to Duskwood, the more Aldored wished he hadn't accepted the job. The offer had come to him from a merchant he had met in a bar in Stormwind. All he would have to do was guard the man's trading caravan, along with a few other hired blades, from Stormwind to Darkshire and he would be paid a nice pouch full of gold. Aldored was drunk at the time, as usual, and conveniently didn't hear the word 'Darkshire'. As he now saw the thick, dead forest looming ahead of him, he wished he had.
The caravan consisted of the head merchant, Osric, his two sons, and three hired blades including Aldored. The goods being guarded were contained in a large wagon pulled by a team of mules. From what Aldored had gathered, Osric was being paid by a higher-up in Stormwind to deliver supplies to Darkshire as a show of good-faith from the King. Of course, it was just that; a 'show' of good-faith. Supplies didn't mean much to Darkshire. They needed more men to help them fight the undead and other abominations, not supplies that would be used up within a week and then forgotten.
"Look sharp, lads! Only a few hours walk 'till we get to Darkshire. I've arranged for ya'll to be taken back to Stormwind on gryphons. Ye'll eat well tonight!"
Aldored resisted the urge to bury his face in his palm. If that moron, Osric, didn't shut up the only way they were going to get to Darkshire would be in the belly of a worg. He rested his hand on the handle of the dagger strapped to his belt. He pulled at the straps that kept his great-axe secured to his back, reaching over his back to pull it free. "The rest of this group may be idiots", he thought to himself, "but I'm not going to die if I can help it."
The forests of Duskwood were eerily quiet. The few leaves remaining on the barren trees didn't sway in the slightest, and no breeze beckoned them to do so. While the forest wasn't thick, it was difficult to see past the other edges, due to the increasing darkness. The men became as quiet as the forest, now understanding why they were the only ones to take the job.
All of them, except one.
"Oh, the mayor will be so glad to see us. He'll probably give us a big commendation, treat us as heroes he will! 'The Saviors of Darkshire' we'll be called. Ah, I can imagine the banquets now..." Osric boasted loudly, his over-sized mustache bouncing as he spoke.
"I hope a worg kills that overfed fool before I have to." Aldored muttered to himself. Another mercenary walking opposite of Aldored snickered at his comment, giving him a smile that faded quickly as the unsettling scenery was looked upon once again.
Snap
Quickly, Aldored along with the rest of the group whirled around. Something had disturbed the underbrush. Something that was behind them. Nothing was visible in the dark forest, a looming mist now settling over the ground as night approached. Quite a few of the men shuttered before turning around and resuming their trek, glancing back every now and then. Even Osric's fat face, which was normally a rosy shade of red, went pale.
"Just a little critter I'm sure!" Osirc said, his voice wavering.
Aldored's fingers clung to the handle of his axe. He doubted that a squirrel or such was what had made the noise. Those cheerful creatures had abandoned this place long ago for greener pastures.
Snap
Everyone whirled around once again, this time to the left. Obviously, they were being hunted by more than one creature.
"Just the wind, lads!" Came Osric's voice. The stale, almost stifling feeling of the forest belied his reassuring comments.
Suddenly, a pack of worgs came tearing through the forest. Large, vicious wolves with black pelts and slavering maws. Two came from behind, while three more came from the left.
Aldored turned to meet the two coming from behind, his axe raised above his head. The others had turned to meet those coming from the side, leaving Aldored alone.
With a yell, he brought the axe down towards the worg's head, cleaving it in two, causing its brains to splatter across his face. He quickly tried to dislodge the axe from its skull, bracing his boot against its now mutilated face. The other worg, seeing its comrade fall so quickly, leaped at Aldored.
He turned his head just in time to see the worg, already in mid-air, leaping for him. He gave the axe one more pull in vain before accepting the painful impact that was about to come.
He felt his ribs break upon impact as the large creature's claws sank into his chest. He was slammed heavily against the dirt path, knocking the wind out of him.
He brought his hands up to push back against the worg's face in an attempt to hold it at bay. The creatures snapped and thrashed as Aldored's hands clasped around its neck, covering him with spittle. It was only inches from his face, staring into Aldored's wide eyes. As if a lantern came on in his head, he grinned. He swung a heavy boot into the worg's groin. With a squeal, it fell off of him and onto the ground.
With a groan of pain, Aldored stood up. In a second, and successful attempt, he wrenched his axe free of the worg's skull in time to bring it down upon the one now prone on the ground. With a satisfying squelch he separated its head from its haunches.
Clutching his ribs, Aldored turned to see how the others were doing. He saw Osric's body growing stiff on the ground, along with one of the mercenary's and a worg. He made his way for them, still clutching his ribs with a hand while blood poured from his chest.
Osric's two sons were hiding under the wagon, covering their heads with their hands and screaming. The two mules, which were still harnessed to the wagon, whinnied and lept towards the air. The remaining mercenary was holding his ground against the two worgs, but would soon be overwhelmed.
With a roar, Aldored brought his other hand to grasp his axe and charged. He brought his axe down on one of the worgs now nipping at the mercenary's heels, hoping to catch it unaware. Unfortunately, the beast was more intelligent than he had anticipated, and it lept out of the way, snarling.
He heard the mercenary cry in pain, and he knew that he had died. He yelled a command for Osric's sons to help him, but they remained sniveling and praying beneath the wagon. He brought his axe back once again and felt it bite into flesh. The worg's legs were separated from its body as it fell, flopping helplessly against the blood stained path.
The remaining worg stared Aldored down, studying him for weakness. Wheezing, Aldored leaned forward, having trouble breathing through his constricted and bleeding chest. Still, he put on a grim face and rested his axe over his shoulder, readying himself for the worg's pending charge.
The creature, a malevolent intelligence in its eyes, gave Aldored a look of cold hatred before turning and running back into the darkened forest. With a grunt, Aldored doubled over, his broken ribs piercing into his lungs. His vision blurred, and soon turned to black.
He awoke to the sound of voices. What they were saying, he couldn't tell. His eyes slowly batted open, his eyes adjusting to the light. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his chest brought him back down to the straw mat on which he lay.
"Looks like he's awake, doctor," said a female voice.
"So it does, child," said a male voice that sounded as if it belonged to someone of great age.
An elderly man approached, his head bald and a long, tangled white beard sprouting from his wrinkled face.
"You're lucky to be alive, young man," said the old man. "Not many can survive an attack from the worgs of these cursed woods."
Aldored didn't pay any attention to what the man was saying. He only wanted to know one thing: "Where are those two scumbags?"
The old man laughed. "Oh, the two trader boys? They're back in Stormwind, lad. I'm assuming they didn't assist you when your party came under attack?"
Scowling, Aldored slowly began to sit up, grimacing as he did so. "Hardly."
The old man still smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulled out a flask filled with a red liquid. "Well, most of that birth don't do well with combat. It's to be expected..."
"Yes, leaving your comrades to die is to be expected." Aldored said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
The old man clicked his tongue. "Now now, I don't think they were your comrades, boy. You were supposed to be protecting them! Not they protecting you!" He said while unscrewing the lid to the flask.
Aldored continued scowling, but said nothing.
"I want you to drink this. It will help speed up the healing process. A priest would do better, but I'm afraid we don't have any in this light forsaken place." The elderly man handed the flask to Aldored.
Aldored looked from the flask to the old man, as if trying to see if it was a trap, before drinking it down in one gulp. It tasted awful, and his face revealed that.
The old man laughed. "It's better than dying, lad." He began walking towards the door, which a young woman held open. "A gryphon has been arranged to take you back to Stormwind, you should leave within the hour." He turned around. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. Your payment is with your clothes at the end of your mat. Those two boys left it for you before they departed." And with that, the old man left the room.
With a groan, Aldored shifted his legs so that his feet touched the floor. Looking down, he realized his entire chest was wrapped in bandages. His breathing still felt constricted, but he could feel the potion already spreading warmth throughout his body.
He stood up, gathering his things and pulling his now semi-shredded jerkin back over his head. Picking up his earnings he frowned. Of course, they had shorted him a few gold. Without him conscious to beat them within an inch of their life, he guessed he was lucky to have been paid at all.
He made his way out the door and towards the gryphon master, knowing that when he reached Stormwind a cold drink and hot meal would be waiting for him at the first tavern he saw.
Founded April 26, 2005