08-21-2010, 11:59 AM
Join Date: Mar 2009
'sup? I've just written the RP-story of my tauren druid, whom I have played since the launch of WoW. I would love some feedback, and I need to know if all of it is correct accordings to the lore and such.
I remember the troublesome days of my youth. The never-ending wandering in search of safer lands to live in. I was trained a warrior from birth. The giant totem became as much a part of my body as my arms.
I learned to fight, to kill and survive. I never paid much thought to nature and the spirits back then. Why would I? I was no shaman. I didn't seek knowledge. I sought blood from my enemies.
For years I fought against the centaur. I can still feel the hatred within me when I think back at those days.
When it seemed there was no hope left, the orcs came. They aided us. Gave us a home; Mulgore. But I didn't stay behind to build the city of Thunder Bluff. I followed the orcs and their new Horde into war. I fought the Legion, and thanks to the elves, I found the ways of druidism.
My name is Danzig Runetotem, and I am a tauren druid.
When the battle of Mount Hyjal was over, I was amazed by the druids, and their strong bond to nature. I followed Hamuul, a distant relative of mine, when he learned the ways of druidism. I joined the Cenarion Circle, and trained among the elves. I learned quickly, and I found the feral lion within me.
After years of training I was ready to be stationed in the world to lend a helping hand in battle. My first assignment was to travel to Silithus and fight the qiraji. Back then they weren't that big of a threat. C'thun hadn't been awoken yet.
I didn't see much combat the first couple of months, but then all hell broke loose. The qiraji swarmed our outpost in the middle of nowhere, and we had to fight for our lives.
The war against the bugs escalated quickly, and soon enough me and my fellow druids had to retreat to Cenarion Hold. I was badly wounded, and had to be brought back to Moonglade.
I had to lie still in a bed for weeks, while my friends fought 'till death in the southern deserts. Then I heard news that they had defeated C'thun, and pushed back the remaining qiraji. I was no longer needed in Silithus.
When I had recovered from my wounds I was stationed in the Eastern Plaguelands to help the Argent Dawn.
The first weeks in the Plaguelands was horrifying. The stench of death was always reminding me of how dire the situation was. I was one of few druids who was placed in the Plaguelands, so instead of befriending with other druids, I became good friends with alot of the paladins in the Argent Dawn. I became especially good friends with one human, of female gender.
Then came Naxxramas; the bane of my life. I fought inside the flying citadel. I lost too many good friends. I even lost the love of my life.
I felt guilt for those who died, and the guilt was too much for me to handle. One day, when I was recovering from battle inside the Light's Hope Chapel, I fled. I just got up and ran away. As far away as I could.
This is where my life in exile began. I became a lone wanderer. I first traveled through the Plaguelands, then I took a zeppelin to Durotar. Once there I wandered out into the barren nothingness. I had to get as far away from anyone as I could. To camouflage myself from the surrounding world I entered my feral lion form.
I left the tauren inside of me behind. In my mind he had been left inside the Chapel in the Plaguelands. That was not me anymore.
I befriended with the lions of the Barrens, and they became my new family. I lived with them, I ate with them... I hunted with them.
I lost all track of who I once was. It was too horrible to remember. Too horrible to hang on to.
To be honest I don't remember very much of my life in exile. It was as if I succumbed into darkness, and stayed there for two years.
Then one day I felt a disturbance in nature. Something was horribly wrong. It was as if I woke up from a dream. Not necessarily a bad dream, just a dream.
I prowled towards the Crossroads, and what I saw I will never forget; zombies invaded the encampment. I charged and attacked the living dead. I joined the survivors as they fought. Then I turned back to my tauren form. After two years as a lion it felt strange to only walk on two legs. My hands felt strange... My entire body felt strange.
I traveled to Moonglade to speak with my former allies, and surpricingly enough they were glad to see me. Or more accurate; they were glad to see anyone join the fight against the zombies.
They told me that the Lich King had risen once again, and attacked all major cities around the world, inflicting his necromantic spells upon all races.
That's when it all came back to me. The battles in Naxxramas... and my friends who had died.
For the first time in many years I felt a true taste for blood. I needed revenge.
I joined the ranks of the Horde, and traveled with their army to Northrend. I killed countless of scourge fiends... and most important; I got my revenge on the inhabitants of Naxxramas.
When Naxxramas had fallen I went to Icecrown to help the Argent Crusade build their tournament-grounds, and I helped them fight the Cult of the Damned.
I never fought in the arena. I never sought to kill Arthas. I had seen enough blood in Naxxramas.
Now I travel around a lot, and I try to help those who are in need of help.
Only time will tell when the story of my life will end... I just hope it won't come too soon.
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