Footprints in the Snow

It was like tracking a ghost, a ghost that you smell on the wind or catch the slightest glimpse in the distance. The local villagers had spoken of a beast in the mountains, feasting on the rare yetis that they hunted for their prized furs. Had Azeem not been light blessed then he would have believed these fabled tales of a beast in the mountain. The reality of it though was far worse. A lost brother and a tortured soul.

The Lord Militant had vanished what seemed like an eternity ago during the Order's period of strife. New and old brethren alike had whispered how the Lord had seen the danger coming and abandoned the Order to its fate. The Shadowbane however knew this to be different. Since returning to the Order's warm embrace
Azeem had re-established contacts within all the sects of Azeroth and the Outlands. His one purpose in his mind, too find the Lord Militant Macloren.

Azeem knew why Macloren had vanished, it wasn’t through lack of courage or and act of cowardness. It was far worse, Macloren had lost his faith.

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His contact had led him here, to this frozen settlement deep within the Alterac Mountains. It wasn't the love for the Lord that led him to search all of Azeroth. In fact it was quite widely known that Azeem had no liking to the Lord Militant or his methods of doing things. However he knew deep down that the Lord Militant was the man to command his beloved Order and would follow him into battle without hesitation. It was the same reason he had expended all his resources in tracking him down to this light forsaken mountain side.

He left the spartan cell like room of the Inn and out into the cold wilderness of Alterac. Months of fighting in the frozen wastes of Nothrend had conditioned him to the blood freezing wind and bone shattering cold of Alterac. He headed further north and towards the blizzard shrouded summit. His feet sunk up to his waist as he tried to forge his way through the snow, his massive bulk hindering him in this harsh tundra. Reciting his holy mantras and invoking his powers of light, he allowed his mind to drift to lights plain.

He felt a presence, powerful, unconditioned, and dangerous. His body burning with the light caressing his soul like oil in water. He fell to one knee summoning all his inner focus he pulled himself back to the cold mountainside. Ahead he could make out a faint pulsing light and the entrance to a cave. He had found the lair of the beast, untamed, unfocused and wrapped in grief.

He unsheathed his sword and burning with righteous fire he trudged his way towards the mouth of the cave.

Nie, this means were going to RP again?

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!

bout bleedin time.

The man in furs sat in his cave, staring at the fire reflected in the blade of his axe.

The visions came easily now, the Mead loostened his mind, healped him forget who he was. He saw her now, as she had been, so full of joy, so full of life... Life... something which was beyond her now... No, he wouldn't dwell on such things now... he was still exilerated from his fight with the Orcs. he had slain them all, even thair femails. His memory returned to the face of the femail Orc he had strangled to death in the snow, the rest of her companions were dead and she had been wonded beond the capasity to escape his wrath. Her face... So terified... The man in furs thought about what it would have been like for her. Her last sight, His rough, scarred face twisted in it's rage, one mad hate-filled eye glaring. The last thing she heared, His voice bellowing incoherantly, pain, loss, rage, hatred, mixed into a heady coctail of violent intent.

The man in Furs remembered the femails terrafied face and felt nothing... No... he felt something... a presance... Dark, familiar, a hurting, a lonelyness, diferent yet no less intence than his own.

He was on his feet in an instance. NO, NOT YET! TOO SOON, TOO SOON.

He could see a shape now, in the mouth of the cave. Huge and looming, terrafing to him, not for the threat of violence the intruder wore like some invisable shroud, but because He longed for nothing more than to run to him and embrace him as a brother, indisision warred within him. In the end he did the only thing he could, he ran to his brother...

With the name of his lost love howling from his lips, he hurled himself at the intruder. They both dissapeared into the night, tumbeling into the snow.

MERRIDEATH!!!

((Thank you Azeem for starting this, the next bit is for someone else to pick up, if we can have Mac escape that would be great so we can do his return IG now that you know where he is))

On it like a car bonnet. Will try to have something up by the weekend

Where's this story then Cartheron? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?

Cartheron wrote:On it like a car bonnet. Will try to have something up by the weekend

I'm waiting Fatty! I want Mac to come back, and you're holding him up you boil!

Well you know these guys write very fast. So no worry you be back before christmas (does not write year just to be sure).

Here it comes you ingrates

Footprints in the Snow.

High above the mountains of Alterac, the sun shone. Its light slid across mighty peaks and delved into deep ravines. Snow fields were transformed into gleaming sheets of white purity and the air itself seemed to sparkle. The cleansing light of the sun moved ever further down the slopes of the Alterac range, illuminating all that stood in its path.

Azeem raised his battered and scarred face to the sky and, eyes closed, let the warmth of the sun play over his features. He ached, limbs and muscles protesting in dull voices at the abuse they had been subjected to. Still, at this moment, in this place, it was enough to feel the sun upon his face. Sections of plate and strips of fur hung raggedly from his huge frame. He could taste the iron tang of his own blood in his mouth, familiar and warm. Opening his eyes and shielding them against the glare of the sun he gazed back upwards at the slope leading to the cave. Pieces of armour and huge piles of disturbed snow littered the slope, a tale of combat and struggle punctuated by bright beads of blood, crimson against white. To the side, a single trail of footprints wandered up to the cave's mouth, weaving and spattered with blood.

Swearing softly under his breath, Azeem pushed himself to his feet. His blade lay further up, cast aside in their struggle. Wearily he trudged back up the slope, collecting pieces of armour as he repeated his earlier journey to the cave. Reaching the mouth he stopped, put down the plate sections and eased himself down, leaning back against the rough-hewn cliff face. Fatigue and pain warred for attention within his body but were silenced through sheer effort of will. Behind him, in the darkness of the cave he could hear movement but he ignored it. The time for fighting had passed, now was the time for words. Azeem cleared his throat, spitting aside the blood that had coated his teeth.

'The Order is falling. Divided. Scattered. We lurch from one battlefield to another, bleeding men and faith. Our enemies hunt us, nipping at our flanks and each time we lose someone dear to us. The Litany of the Dead is longer than I have ever known it.'

The movement had stilled behind him and Azeem could feel eyes upon him. He blinked back the sudden wetness in his eyes as thoughts of his Brother rose unbidden and rubbed a rough hand across his mouth.

'The Scion has tried, but he doesnt understand the hearts of men. There is no warmth within him, no emotion. He is a figurehead, nothing more. Soon, everything we have fought for, everythig we have bled for will be for naught and the Order will die.'

Cracked and hoarse, a voice whispered from the shadows of the cave.

'Nothing for me there. Without her there is nothing.'

Azeem sighed. It pained him to see a man he had once respected so broken. He knew that what he would say next would only cause more pain, but it was the only way.

'Nothing? No, here there is nothing. Here there is only despair and self-pity. You think I care that you lost someone? You think that entitles you to shirk your responsibilties, your duties, all because some sneak-thief you rutted got herself corrupted?'

He could almost feel the sheer force of the anger radiating from the cave behind him. Still, he forced himself to stay seated, to keep his hand from his blade. This was the tipping point, from here things could go very ill.

'Loss happens. Pain happens. The world just doesnt care. We've all lost someone close to us and do you know what we do? We carry the frak on. You want to remember her? Fine. You want to wish she was still alive? Fine. You want to cry yourself to sleep every night thinking about what could have been, while the world burns down around your ears, fine. But you do the frakking job in front of you. You do what you were born to do, what you were raised to do. You honour your duties and responsibilties and you do the Lights bidding.

There will come a time for memorials and for remembrance. There will be a time to wish for what could have been. But this is not it. This is the time to fight. To push back the Dark. To bleed and to hurt and to use that to give you strength. To punish those who took her from you, not to punish yourself for losing her. When our war is done, if you still want to join her and cast aside your place in the Order then by the Gods I'll take my blade to you myself and wish you well upon your path.

But until then you fight. You mourn, you move on, you fight. You lead.'

Azeem rose to his feet, pulling his furs around him. Sections of plate were bundled together and secured wth straps for the long walk back down the mountains. He turned and stared into the cave-mouth at the dim figure stood there.

'So. Do I tell the Order that the Fist returns with me, or that I found only a worthless broken man?'

'Merri...'

'We will honour her. As we do all our fallen. With bloody reprisal and war. You will have your vengeance, that I promise.'

Long moments passed, silent and heavy. And then the figure moved forward, huddled under rotting furs and ragged cloth. One eye-socket gaped empty, red-raw and scarred. Macloren stepped out from the darkness of the cave and raised his face to the light. Azeem nodded once and turned away, trudging back through the snow. His deep voice carried back over his shouder as Macloren watched his broad back move away.

'Come then, there is much you have missed. But first, you need a bath....'

After a few moments Macloren moved away from the cave, heading further into the light.

((Holy Fuck, I just fell in love with the Order in a whole new way. Carth my good man, I think you have restored my faith in the Light again with this little follow up.))

That was awsume

Wel worth the wait my friend. Well worth the wait!

amazing....just amazing.This could be the turnback we needed.

We should put an rp event in place wehn mac return,yell it trough stormwind etc so our enemies and allies know where back...that the lost leader have returned/

loved it, we need to sort out the return and shit

do you want to write a Maclorens return from Vaknor's perspective?

OOOoooooOOOOO

That I will do, give me a little time and it shall be done. Got some ideas already. Will start it asap.

I'd love to do it ingame too at some point too.

okay. Well do that, and you can use it as a springboard for your story.