((RP Story)) The Fall of Turen Longrifle

[turen]

Chapter 1: Fall from Grace
Turen Longrifle, Private of the renowned Ironforge Regiment and Sergeant in the Alliance Army, stalked through the streets of Stormwind, seeking the liquid cure to the pain in his heart. Kelleta… poor Kelleta, What have ye done? Turen thought over and over. Finally he found what he was looking for: The Sable Plume. Located in the Stormwind Park, the Plume was his favorite place to drink until he passed out on Thursday and Sunday nights. Still feeling the dull ache in his head from a week of increasingly heavy drinking, Turen swore softly as he stumbles inside the Plume. Medduren, the barkeep and friend of Turen, brightened immediately as he caught sight of the dirty dwarf, which quickly slipped to a look of concern as he took in Turen’s matted hair and beer-stained uniform. “Welcome Turen!” Medduren started, “Would you li...” “Bourbon… yer strongest.” Turen finished for him harshly. Medduren reached below the bar and pulled out a flagon. “Here you are, old friend. On the house.” Turen grunted as he took the drink and poured it down his throat, not even seeming to taste it. He walked over to a table in center of the tavern and sat down, taking massive gulps every few minutes. Jiyun, an elven assistant to Medduren, watched in disbelief of how her usually cheerful friend was acting. She walked over to him. “Turen, what ails you, friend?” “Bah! Leave me be lass. Make yerself useful and get me more bourbon!” Jiyun sighed and got the already drunk dwarf more of the potent ale.

As Turen drank, his tormented mind would not let go of the death of his dear friend, Kelleta. Why, Kell…Ye did not have ta prove yerself ta yer kin! Ye were happy here…. Turen tried to rise to get another round of bourbon, but fell to the ground. Turen let out an obnoxious laugh before murmuring “So be it…. I’ll just lay here.” Before long Jiyun walked back over to Turen and urged him to get up. “Turen... you can’t just lay there! Oh, what is wrong with you?” Turen regarded the elf a moment before bursting out with laughter. “Oh, she’s gone, lass! She’s dead! Slain at sea…” An elven druid across the room remarked “Guess its true what they say about dwarves… after they get any ale in them, no manners at all.” Turen half rose to send a half-empty mug of ail sailing across the room towards the female druid, who dodged it easily. “Get outta here ye tree-worshiping wretch afore ah throw ye out!” Turen shouted, never one to take an insult towards his kin well. The druid chuckled. “From the looks of it, you couldn’t even walk that far!” That got Turen up charging at the elf, or trying to, before running into a table and falling back down. The druid laughed all the harder. “I’ll KILL YE! I’LL SKIN YER ANIMALS AND BURN YER FORESTS TO THE GROUND AND DO IT LAUGHING!” Turen roared, which stopped the druids laughter. “While I do enjoy the spectacle you are making, I must go.” The druid stepped around the miser able dwarf and out the door.

After wallowing on the floor, Turen rose again to get more ale, pushing people out of his way. A male elf, Stoery, blocked his path. “Perhaps you’ve drunk your fill, soldier. Go on, out with you” “Bah!” Turen snorted and swung for the elf’s chest, which missed and struck the bar. Stoery shook his head at this pitiful creature who had been a proud servant of the renowned Ironforge Regiment. “Very well, friend. But I do not want you to cause more trouble.”
Several hours later Turen lay on the Bridge of the Valley of Heroes, having not a clue how he had arrived there. That durned elf must’ve moved me…by the Light I need another drink. Turen did not rise, however, knowing the Tavern would be closed by now. “Oh, by Elune, your still here” he heard a melodic elvish voice say. Turen looked up to see Stoery standing not a few feet away. “Aye, right where ye left me ye meddling elf!” Turen growled as labouredly rose to his feet. “You were making the Tavern unsafe! You nearly set the Plume aflame you drunken fool! How the Regiment tolerates you I do not know! You’re a disgrace to the light, to the Alliance, and to Ironforge! Here let me take you to an inn, you need a bed…” Stoery stated and began to reach for Turen, only to have his hand knocked away. Stoery cried out in surprise as he felt a pain in his chest. Thinking he had been struck, he looked down to see not a Dwarven fist, but a Spear sticking into his chest. Stoery looked back to Turen’s face as he began to fall back, off of the spear and off the Bridge into the dirty waters below.

Turen almost smiled in triumph when he heard Jiyun’s voice cry out. He looked over to see Jiyun standing at the far end of the bridge, her mouth dropped in disbelief. “Turen! Oh, Turen what have you done!” she yelled, drawing the attention of the Stormwind Guard. The red haze of bloodlust cleared from Turen’s head and he had finally realized what had just happened. As he saw the Guards rushing toward him, he almost let them take him. But, something, deep inside his being, would not allow it. And so, with an apologetic glance to Juyin, Turen fought off the guards and ran out the Gates of Stormwind. Turen ran for all he was worth. He did not notice the panting Guards give up the pursuit, did not notice the landscape change from lush forest, to haunted bog, to tropical rainforest. Did not pay any heed to travelers hailing him. He only stopped when he came upon the massive set of Shark Teeth that signified the entrance to Booty Bay…

TO BE CONTINUED

[turen]

Chapter 2: Punishment
Turen ran through the streets of Ironforge. He fled from an opponent he wouldn’t dare touch. “Axe High!” came battle cries behind him. These words used to fill him with pride, now filling him with Terror. He was being hunted by his former comrades of the Ironforge Regiment. Almost out…I can hide in Dun Morogh! Turen thought frantically. He was passing the Auction House when suddenly a net fell upon him. From behind, he heard the laughter of the one he had looked up to most, Ler Wayfinder. “Got ye! Ye canna dodge Justice any longer!” the dwarven hunter declared. “ Le’s send this traitor to th’ Shadow and then we can share a few pints!” He heard his former captain, Odonna Stoneguard mutter. A dwarf whom Turen would have gladly died for just weeks ago stepped in front of him, brandishing a huge axe. “ Fer murder, I, General Foambeard, sentence ye Turen Longrifle, to DEATH! Axe High!” The General shouted as he brought the axe down, straight for Turen’s neck…





“NO!” Turen screamed as he awoke in a cheap room in Booty Bay. His sheets were soaked with sweat. Panting, Turen climbed out of his bunk and walked over to his window. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep since he had murdered Stoery in Stormwind three days ago. Pulling back the rags that served as drapes for the windows, Turen looked out into the night sky. The shill sea breeze dried the thick layer of sweat on Turen’s skin, though he hardly felt it. There were few things he did feel these days. Turning back for his bed, he caught sight of his rifle propped up against the door. His eyes traveled down the barrel to where he had carved two crossed hammers, the Emblem of the Ironforge Regiment. Knowing it was already loaded, Turen grabbed the weapon and sat down on his bunk. I should be dead the tourtured dwarf thought as he slowly turned the barrel to his forehead. The cold metal almost felt good on his skin. After all, I kill the wicked, and I’m surely as damned as any I’ve ever hunted…. Turen closed his eyes and slowly began to pull the trigger. Suddenly a smell reached the dwarf’s nostrils and his eyes shot open. He knew that smell all to well. Silently rising, he prepared for what was to come.



Culdrent, Undead assassin, quietly made his way through the dirty goblin Inn of Booty Bay. The Inn was made out of the junked hull’s of at least two ships, and was obviously in dear need of repair. Still, not a timber squeaked under Culdrent’s decayed feet. Easy enough assignment, the assassin thought, cut the drunken dwarves throat and have the Goblins get my pay for me. From what Culdrent had heard, the dwarf was a drunk, and killing a drunk was no hard task to a seasoned assassin like himself. As he reached the second level, the rotting killer could hear the sounds of the sea through the windows in the Inn’s few rooms. Following empty mugs to a room facing the Ocean, Culdrent figured he had found the right place. The sound of running water intensified as he entered the room. Guess this place is closer to the waterfall than I thought, the assassin reasoned ad he crept through the door. The bed was obviously occupied. Despite hardly having much in the way of lips, Culdrent smiled. Almost too easy, he thought as he raised his serrated blade. Suddenly, he noticed the form in the bed was very still. Creeping up to it, he discovered not a dwarf body, but a dummy! Swearing softly, the rogue crouched down and prodded his knife underneath the bed. There was something under there. Lifting the large rag of a blanket away from the bed’s frame, Culdrent found a bundle of six sticks of dynamite, fuse light with perhaps two inches left on it! That’s what that sound was, not water! Letting loose a blistering string of swears, the would-be predator dashed for the window, leaping through as the dynamite set off. Flying through the air, he felt flames catch his legs, blistering what was left of his skin and blackening his bones. Never the less, he landed on the deck, unharmed other than the burns on his legs. Lying facedown on the deck, he let out a sigh of relief. “I made it” the rogue breathed. He learned he was wrong as the tip of a spear touched the base of his neck.



Turen looked down upon the assassin’s prone form; his green eyes alight with rage. “Who sent ye?” he demanded. He only got a cackle out of the undead creature, as well as a broken phrase in Common that brought his mothers purity into question. “Tha’ wasn’t very nice,” Turen growled as he sank his spear a little deeper into the assassin’s neck. It tried to keep laughing, but soon grunted in pain. “You… much time… no have. Every…Bounty Hunter in…. East…want…..you!” it grunted out in heavily accented common. Turen took a little pressure off of the spear. “I help…take to safe…” it continued. Turen sheathed his spear on his back and told the pitiful creature to rise. “First you…let I…uh take you” it struggled to say as it started to rise. Turen smiled and, unseen by the assassin, drew his rifle. It looked at him and the two gaping holes that had once held eyes widened in horror at seeing Turen’s evil grin and gun held butt-first. It tried to scream but Turen swung his gun like a club, bringing the brass-studded handle across the assasin's face. The first hit knocked the creature out, but Turen kept bashing it, swinging again and again until he no longer saw the body before him. His mind’s eye overruled his regular eyes and he now saw the look of shock on Stoery’s face as he fell from the bridge, he saw Jiyun staring at him, open mouthed in pure disbelief. He heard “you’re a disgrace to the Light, the Alliance, and Ironforge!” Turen kept swinging, as if unleashing his infinite rage upon the deteriorating form of the assassin would banish the memories from his mind. Finally, he heard the squeaky voice of a Goblin shout in alarm, and turned to see a dozen Bruisers rushing towards him. Cursing, Turen ran through the body of Culdrent, which now could hardly even be considered a solid form, and rushed towards the loading station, where a ship was preparing to disembark. Up ahead, a Bruiser stepped out from the market in front of Turen and was raising his spiked mace when 600 pounds of orange and black stripped tiger crashed into the poor goblin, tearing out it’s throat before it could cry out in alarm. Nodding toward his only friend in the world, his pet Kisa, Turen kept running for the ship. Turen leapt upon the boarding plank of the ship just as it began to leave. Kisa leapt past him, landing easily on the deck. Turen let out a sigh of relief and, without a second glance back at the rapidly disappearing Booty Bay, climbed aboard the deck to search for a bunk.



Two days later, Turen stood on the by the rail of the starboard side of the ship, staring out across the ocean. Kisa was curled up into a ball near the mainmast, licking her paws clean of the last bits of fish Turen had given her. A goblin, richly dressed in a red coat and sporting ears with more golden loops pierced into them than seemed possible, strode up to Turen. ”You know, I should make you work this ship. It’s not often a stowaway gets to live, let alone take food from our stores while contributing nothing!” it scolded the dwarf. “Th’ gold I gave ye be more than three times a passenger’s fee, Captain Goldear.” Turen replied softly as he stared out into the distant Maelstrom, a swirling mass of energy so much like the inner struggle in his soul. “That you did.” Goldear conceded with a nod. “Do you even know where the ship’s headed?” Turen realized that, in fact, he had no idea where he was going. He didn’t voice this however, hardly caring. “Headed to Ratchet. Got to send some of my mates over to collect a shipment of Kodo bone from Desolace. I tell ya, its like finding gold on the ground in Desolace. All those big brutes seem to go there to die!” Goldear informed anyway, trying to make conversation. Turen fixed Goldear with a cold glare, which sent the goblin captain back to his duties. “We’re due to arrive within a ten-day” he called over his shoulder before climbing back up the mainmast. Not such a bad idea, Turen thought as he digested that bit of information about the Kodo. Perhaps I can find redemption and a glorious death in battle in this Desolace place, Turen pondered. Kisa rose walked over to Turen, nudging her master with her muzzle. Turen smiled and scratched her behind her ears, the way she liked. Exile to Desolace. It was a fitting fate.

[Lovely]

((Very exciting! Great writing!))

[Garbhan]

/golfclap

I've just decided to organize an Ironforge Regiment story contest. That way we can get more've the lads n' lassies writing, an' then I'll being 'em all on 'ere an' we'll take th' gazette by storm! Vive le Alliance! Nay more will th' Horde have a monopoly on publishers!! AHAHAH!!!

Keep up the writing, mate!

[Caelyn]

((wonderfully written, I loved the action. More?))

[turen]

(( of course there's more, thanks for the compliments!))

[turen]

Chapter 3: Two New Enemies

Turen Longrifle, Exile of the Ironforge Regiment, wandered the cave that he had taken as his home. Smokeless demon-fire torches he had taken from Burning Blade cultists adorned the deep cave. Though the purple fire cast an eerie glow over the place, Turen recognized the value of not being tracked by smoke. What am I ta do with meself, The exile thought as he staggered drunkenly to the mouth of his cave. He took a massive gulp from a bottle of Bourbon he had stolen and threw the now empty bottle to the ground. Suddenly, he heard the thunder of many horses. Silently berating himself for his lack of caution, Turen tried to run for his weapons. He turned too fast and fell to the floor with a groan. Gotta at least see em comin’, He thought as, with a great deal of effort, he rose to a sitting position, determined to meet death with closed fists if not cold steel. He managed to get up just in time to see that the sound was not the horses of Bounty Hunters after his head, but the savage Kolkar Centaur. Looks like they just finished a raid Turen observed. Then one Centaur caught his eye. Somehow banishing the haze of drunkenness, Turen managed to make out the head of a Nigh Elf jammed upon the spear of one Centaur as the raid party rode past. He then noticed that a great many Centaur had taken grisly trophies of fallen Elves. Whether from the gore or the alcohol, Turen felt his stomach heave. When he looked back, one decapitated Elven head seemed to be talking to him. That face…Stoery! Turen thought, and sure enough Stoery’s final words played out through his head, over and over. Turen shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth against the memories. Hours later, night had fallen. Turen rose, with all effects of the ale vanished. With an evil glint in his eye and a savage smile upon his face, Turen grabbed his weaponry and ran out into the night, silent as death.

I must get away from this…creature! Must warn the others!, Daltiv, Centaur Scout of the Kolkar Tribe, thought frantically as he made all speed towards his encampment. Behind him, he heard his, a swift and terrible Tiger; roar with eagerness to spill blood. Daltiv risked a look over his shoulder to see the Tiger hot on his heals. But where is the other? Daltiv wondered, thinking of the short killer that fought enough such ferocity to frighten even the vicious Kolkar Centaur. He shuddered as he remembered how it had leapt down unseen from some ledge onto the back of his brother, Maltes, and drove its spear straight through his brother’s skull, and then proceeding to slaughter the rest of the Kolkar encampment! The monster simply would not die! Even after hurling it’s spear into the throat the tribe’s best archer, it called it’s ferocious Tiger and then seemed to turn into stone and pummel all those around him until it managed to draw it’s two terrible axes. One Kolkar Warrior had tried to trample it, but the creature simply dove under the warrior and rolled over to gut the Centaur with two twin slashes down it’s horse-midsection. Oh how its terrible green eyes glowed with savage delight at the shower of blood that followed! Another roar brought Daltiv back to the present. I must warn the Khan. Surely this bastard cannot stand up to the entire Tribe? Daltiv risked another look and found the Tiger and found that it had given up the pursuit. Daltiv looked forward again just in time to see the bearded demon appear out of nowhere, jabbing its spear straight for his midsection. Daltiv had no time to dodge and screamed in agony as the long spearhead entered through his belly and out his back, severing his spine in the process. Daltiv fell backwards, his horse-half twisting unnaturally. His arms barely responded to his brain’s commands. He gave a feeble attempt to crawl away, but his arms couldn’t even move more than an inch, let alone pull his enormous weight. This is it, then, Daltiv thought with a resigned sigh. He tried to muster the courage his ancestors would demand he show, but despite himself, Daltiv soon was soon sobbing in terror. Then it came. Still covered in Centaur blood and wearing that look of savage glee upon his face, Daltiv was almost sure the creature standing before him was a Demon. “Please…Do… do not kill me!” Daltiv managed to say before breaking down and crying. With those terrible green eyes staring into his, the last thing Daltiv saw was the spear of Turen Longrifle driving down towards his right eye.

Turen’s sleep was troubled that night. His dreams were full of blood, images of slaughter that nearly made his stomach heave. Finally his eyes snapped open. He found himself in his cave. Turen started to rise from the pile of hyena pelts that served as his bed but stopped as he felt crust hinder his movements. Turen looked down upon his body to find it covered in dried blood. He suddenly remembered his actions of the previous night, to every gory detail. “No!” Turen screamed and collapsed back down upon his bed, damning himself, his actions, and the very world.

Grengis, Khan of the Kolkar Tribe, examined the carnage that had once been a small Kolkar camp. The main tent was surrounded by spears, and upon each spear was a Kolkar head. Grengis winced as he saw the face of his nephew, Daltiv. “Alliance retaliation, perhaps?” Grengis pondered aloud. “No, Khan. These tracks suggest that this was the work of…one creature.” One of his guards reported. Grengis frowned, but he soon realized that his guard was right. “Find whatever did this. It must suffer for this…Insult.” Grengis declared and galloped back across the wasteland to his main encampment, intent on making the offender of this atrocity pay very dearly for his actions.

[turen]

((Haven't given up, on the story, almost done with ch.4))

[Northern]

The saga continues!

[turen]

Yep, and it faces its most dastardly villan yet: Writers Block!

[turen]

Chapter 4: Valor
Turen lay in the gray dirt of Desolace, nestled against a massive skull of a long dead Kodo. It had been a long month of wandering and fighting since he had massacred the Kolkar encampment, and he was now a target for all the denizens of Desolace. Kisa sat atop the giant bone, alert to any threat to her master. There was something assailing Turen Longrifle, though, that Kisa could neither detect not swipe away with her razor sharp claws. What’ve I become… Turen asked himself mournfully. He was once again amazed at how quickly and completely he had been reduced to a shade of his former self. Ye did what ye had to do, lad. Elf pushed ye around, and paid the price. Just like them Centaur that’re huntin’ ye. Turen jerked upright, horrified by his own thoughts. Worse, the notion made him re-live all of the atrocious actions he had committed since that fateful night in Stormwind. Stoery’s demise, the many Centaurs he had so brutally put to the slaughter. Ale…If only I had some blasted Ale…I could ferget all o’ this. Turen’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard movement in the distance... With silence one would think impossible of a Dwarf, Turen climbed atop the Kodo skull to peer across the rolling plains of Desolace. What he saw confirmed his suspicions. “Bounty Hunters,” Turen muttered distastefully. He had wondered when the Kolkar would stop wasting their “warriors” and send something of a challenge. After studying the force, however, Turen realized that he could not beat the score or so that rode towards him.” Kisa, go find some food,” Turen ordered his oldest companion, not wanting the cat to share his fate. With a sigh and a sad smile, Turen prepared for his last battle. Unknown to Turen, however, a short stocky figure made his way over to view the impending fight.

The Bounty Hunters charged forward to find Turen holding his rifle in one hand, an axe in the other and still standing atop the Kodo skull, with Kisa nowhere in sight. A man stepped forward from the pack. “You are caught, Turen Longrifle. Throw down your weapons and come down from there and I promise you an easy journey back to my employer. But make no mistake, your head isn’t worth all that much more gold alive.” the bounty hunter stated. Turen waited for a long while before answering by putting a bullet through the humans left eye. Without hesitation, Turen threw his rifle aside and drew his other axe. With a roar, he leapt into the pack of bounty hunters, determined to take as many with him as possible.

From a distance, a Dwarf watched Turen fight a losing battle. He could barely contain himself from charging into the fray, for the Regiment had effectively been commanded to show no aid towards their former soldier, for he was none other than Borgas Thunderfist, dearest friend to Turen. Borgas marveled at the fury with which Turen fought. An elf tried to behead Turen with two great scimitar swipes from each hand, but Turen dove forward, tackling the Elf and bashing the butt of one of his axe in the elf’s face. Turen stayed in motion, though rolling to the side just in time to avoid a spear that was meant to impale Turen. The poor elf cried out in agony as the spear sank into his chest. The wielder, a Human, did not bother to pull the spear out of the elf and quickly drew a sword and shield. Turen threw his axe at the man, scoring a hit on his chest. The man grunted in surprise and slowly fell to the blood soaked dirt. Borgas grimaced as an arrow sank into Turen’s side, though if it had caused any pain, Turen didn’t show it. That lad’s trying to get himself killed! Borgas realized. It took every bit of Borgas’ discipline not to leave. He couldn’t bear to see his friend suffer so. But he had to stay. He would see his friends fall. He owed Turen that much, at least.

Turen struggled to keep up the intensity. His limbs began to slow, and he became aware that he was seriously wounded in a dozen places. An Orc came at him with a mace too fast to avoid completely. While Turen dove to the side, the mace smashed into Turen’s lower leg, shattering the bone. Time seemed to slow down for Turen Longrifle then. This is it, then, he thought. The smug look on the Orcs face made Turen wish he had more left to give, however. Bah, ye can take a few more down. Turen thought as his gaze strayed to the tattered Regiment insignia in his chest. One more go fer the Regiment, Turen decided. The Orc seemed to sense the change in Turen, and quickly tried to bring its mace down on Turen’s skull. Turen rolled to the side, and leapt up at the Orc. “Axe High!” Turen cried as he brought his mailed fist into the Orcs face over and over. An Arrow dug into Turen’s back, and Turen howled with fury. He turned around and scanned the area, looking through all the bodies. By the light, I’ve almost killed all o’ ‘em. Then Turen spotted the last hunter, probably the largest Tauren Turen had ever seen, striding towards him. The Tauren had an enormous battle-axe in hand. Turen roared and scooped up a sword from the ground and charged the Tauren, intent on making it pay dearly for Turen’s head.

Borgas was making all speed towards Turen and the last remaining Bounty Hunter. I can’t let him die…Alliance be damned! I will not let Turen die like this! He thought frantically. He saw Turen charge the bounty hunter, but for all Turen’s fury, he was simply spent and was easily batted aside by the blunt side of the Tauren’s axe. “Axe High!” Borgas yelled and raised his spear to strike the Tauren. With shocking speed, the Tauren spun around and blocked the blow. The Tauren kicked out, knocking Borgas back several feet and causing Borgas to lose his spear. Some help I’ve been, Borgas thought bitterly as the Tauren strode towards him. The towering creature raised its axe high above its head for a powerful downward shop that would no doubt split Borgas in two. Suddenly, Turen was atop the massive creatures back beating the creature’s bovine face with his fists. It didn’t take long for it to throw Turen off of its back, but it was all the time Borgas needed to retrieve his spear. As the Tauren faced Borgas once more, Borgas jammed his spear into the Tauren's roaring mouth, through the soft tissues and into the beast’s brain. The Tauren toppled backwards.

Turen felt the rumble of the ground as the massive Tauren fell. He looked up to see Borgas sitting on the ground, panting. Turen got up and limped towards his friend. “ Borgas…” Turen gasped as consciousness began to slip away “ I …I’m so sorry…” With that, Turen fell to the bloody ground and knew no more.

[turen]

((for some reason i cant seem to get the thoughts itallicized, however the format shows up on the Ironforge Regiment guild page, http://guildportal.com/Guild.aspx?GuildID=55291&TabID=533174))

[turen]

(( Well, i guess this tale wont end the way I had planned. Morticia, if your reading this go ahead and enter it now. I just o not have the time to write anymore))