Tekanada
Cub
Posts: 1
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« on: October 06, 2011, 01:00:40 AM » |
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Name
Tekanada
Class
Warrior
Level
76 (and counting)
Roleplaying Experience
I've been playing in Defias Brotherhood for some good 6 years now, mostly on the Alliance side. Most of what kept me playing was the RP, definitely. I met really great people, and most of the fun in WoW came from the RP events I'd partake in. Now, after a good 6 month break I decided to start anew on the Horde side, and since I hope to have as much fun as I did back in the day, let's take a stab at orc RP in one of the best orc guilds in DB-EU.
"Short" Story
Tekanada lowers his blade and relaxes his stance. Taking a long look along the bluffs of Nagrand, he takes a deep breath and prepares to end his drills. Tekanada's blade rests upon his crossed legs as he sits in a meditative position, with his eyes closed, looking into himself. Things had changed. The world was no longer moved by the actions of the individual. It required partnered effort. Even generals had armies marching behind them.
The wind ripples in waves across the grass blades and envelop the orc meditating on the plains. His long and bristly grey beard whips along with his mane of the same colour, kept only in check by a small cropping of hair on top of his head. His face, although relaxed at the moment, shows constant constraint, soured by visions of war, flame and blood.
63 years ago he was born on this same land; the Land of Winds. It much before this land had known the bloodshed it recently did. But his upbringing was not peaceful at all, it was the most wretched and tempering an orc could have. Original of the Burning Blade clan, Grask - his given name - was shaped into the mindframe of his peers. Envious of his first-born brother, and therefore privileged, Grask murdered him while in hunting. The elders were appeased by the violence, and claimed the way of competition and conquest; the way of the Burning Blade Clan. But Grask's progenitors never did forgive him. His attempt for attention was met with an abusive father and a distant mother.
When he became of age he trialled to become a warrior of his clan. In every opponent he saw his father, and hatred fuelled him. Blackouts were often amidst the intensity, and Grask would frequently only come to at the end, already bloodied, his belt replaced by the twisting of his enemy's innards. He quickly learned of blood lust and the berserker way, and harnessed them to gain himself the reputation of a gladiator, a mate, and become head of his family.
Then, the Blood of Mannoroth was offered. Tekanada's brow furrows, and his face twists in anger. He knows the memories will flash before him. The killing, the blood, the fire, the heat, the sweat, the screams, the metal, the burning acrid pain of bruises on his skin, penetrating his senses and triggering the release of explosive energy. Every impact of his weapon came with a satisfactory crunching of a bone, the music of a human scream, and finally the muddied sound of another soldier fallen on the field, to be trampled by his peers and enemies alike, until his body gives in and releases its soul to the afterlife.
Tekanada opens his eyes. He had failed to quell the memories once more. Meditation had given him peace for some time, but he no longer could contain the urge to once more fight. To spill blood. But he had learnt he could do so for the right reasons. Closing his eyes, Tekanada drifts into the restlessness of Durnholde Keep. After the Assault on Blackrock Mountain, only 25 members of his clan were taken alive, to be studied like animals. The years in captivity were tough and restless at first, but his anger and bloodlust gradually were stifled. Grask started speaking the common dialect of orcish towards the other clanners, signalling his wish to communicate. He started to understand empathy when the sight of an orc, outside his own clan, being beat by a human guard was too much to bear. He quickly stopped being feared, and started being respected. There was no need to muscle anything out of anyone anymore. His strength, his prowess and his anger could be directed. He had the choice. And so what was left of the blood's control was diminished completely.
The day Thrall came to release him and his brethren, Grask had already adopted another name, shrugging off his past as best he could. Travelling with Thrall was the most enlightening experience he had ever had. He heard words of wisdom, and the concept of fighting for a good cause. Of spilling blood in the name of honour. Tekanada learnt sacrifice, and the importance of the elements. A strong feeling of purpose filled him. A feeling he had never felt before. Tekanada was free now, no longer a slave to peers, blood lust, or clan. He had choice and made it rightly so. After swearing allegiance to Thrall and his New Horde, he took his fighting skills, his new found philosophies and his will to serve the elements to become what he works to perfect everyday: a Blademaster.
Finishing his meditation, Tekanada uses his sword to hoist himself back up. He looks over the bluffs once more. Sunlight was dimming, the air felt heavier, and the wind was settling. It was going to rain. Looking down from the skies and to his slender blade, Tekanada mulled once again. The world was changing. He alone was not enough to serve a cause anymore.
"Perhaps... Perhaps it is time I find a new home. A new clan."
Blade in sheathe, the blademaster trecks down the grassy hill, leaving behind a spot of crushed grass where he sat, but taking the black cloud of suffering that is his past.
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