WarCraft
Retribution
Prologue
My name is Gulog, I was once a powerful war chieftain of the Tauren Blood hoof tribe of the eastern plains of Southern Kalimdor. We had prospered on these plains with but a single slam of our fist. We swept away the native quill bore of the Wind plains and drove the centaur marauders out of this place... or so we thought. The marauders seamed easy game at first, but over time they grew in numbers. Every time they were driven out they would return with a greater army then before until they had massed an army large enough and strong enough to drive us out of our homes, killing all and leaving few.
I am hunted, along with many others, they are relentless, they kill without care, slaughtering our race from these lands. We cannot run much longer for the tribes in southern Kalimdor are broken and battered. My home was destroyed, and now I survive for a single purpose only. And I shall dish out the retribution.
I
Beginnings
A massive beast overlooked the plains of Southern Kalimdor, taking in the beauty of the setting sun in the west, he breathed deeply and exhaled with a shake and a snort. He stood on a rocky cliff, holding his pole arm axe at his side, slowly, he rose it from the ground and held it with both his hands tapping up and down at a timed pace.
It was not but a week ago that his camp had been raided and burned. And now he was hunted like a deer. This beast was Gulog, the tauren, he took in horrible beauty, far to the north he could see fires burning at the Gorak tribe camp, the marauders must have burnt it as well.
And though he was hunted by these centaurs, he would not let them take him as a prize. He would fight for his life and his freedom and become the hunter. He had been tracking them for several days now and he new they were close, for they too were looking for him. Gulog had no allies in this fight, no arsenal, no army at his back. It was just he and the centaurs... nothing else.
But he was a tauren, tauren do not cower in the face of death, they do not squander in the presence of battle. Tauren believe in honor and dignity, above all bravery to face the challenges of their lives. If he could not hold up to his precedents, he would be nothing more than a simple rat.
Taking one last glance, Gulog turned away and ascended deeper into the gloomy, dry forest that were situated within the Kalimdor barrens. The sun shone brightly through the dry orange leaves. With each step the massive beast took, a low rumble could be noticed. His massive bulk shook the very ground. Brown fur, a ring through his nose and massive muscle would fill out the beast-man.
Tauren were not the greatest hunters, their stride could be heard a mile away and their snorting breaths served not too well either. Though they were very strong and excelled greatly in battle. The tauren were by far one of the strongest beings on the face of Kalimdor or the world for that matter.
Gulog continued to walk through the burnt forest. He could hear the hawks squawking and circling over him. He would not be a feast for any animal in this lifetime or any lifetime, it would be the other way around. Continually looking up and checking for the pesky creatures, Gulog made sure to walk as quietly as his massive Tauren legs could stride. He knew not of the creatures that dwell within the forest, and they could attack at any given time.
The scent grew stronger as he walked west, so he did. Soon enough the night fell, and the glow of amber could be noticed above the canopy. This was either the flame of another tribes camp, or a marauder's. In either case, the area in that vicinity might hold the bastards, and he was getting close. He could smell the burning of wood, and could hear faint whispers of yells beyond the edge of the forest.
The tauren was not afraid, he was Gulog, war chieftain and leader of the blood hoof clan. These marauders were feeble, dimwitted creatures... no match for the wits of a battle hardened elder tauren. For the tauren, they believed strength grew by experience, the older you were, the wiser and more aware you would be in battle.
He was getting close, close enough to taste ash on his tongue, close enough to smell the stench of centaur, close enough even to feel the warmth of the fire against his face. Gulog's 2 large, black, protruding horns shone brightly in the radiating glow. With a snarl and a grunt, he took in the site as he emerged from the forest. Over the plain, he could see looming flames, licking the night sky. It was yet that of another tauren encampment, burnt to the ground and destroyed. He snarled and ran quickly with great speed as the tauren did, dust trailing his feet, the ground shook and rumbling could be heard a mile away. Gulog was angered, angered enough to rip the face off a being.
He reached the encampment and slowed down. He began to walk, slowly, in awe as he strode through the wreckage and burnt corpses of fellow tauren and centaur. Though there were many tauren corpses, the centaurs greatly outweighed Gulog's losses. It appeared the tauren had put up a valiant fight, but these marauders were just too many.
With a roar, Gulog through his fists to the ground, shaking the earth and loosening the wreckage to a falling point as beams and concrete cylinders fell from their resting places. The immense heat scorched Gulog's face, the dead attacked his brain with grief.
Suddenly Gulog sensed something behind him, though he did not move, he stayed where he was. He slowly rose from the ground and propped himself against it, ready for an attack. With lightning speed Gulog grabbed his axe with 2 massive hands, raised it and forced it to the earth with great speed and strength. The axe slammed the ground, raising earth and dust into the air. A shadowy figure was spotted out of the corner of his eye, flying upwards just before the weapon hit the ground.
With a roar, Gulog yanked his weapon out of the ground, looked around and yelled.
"Come out and fight whelp, bring your pretty face to my axe and get what you so righteously deserve" roared Gulog into the once quiet night sky.
The scream awoke the creatures of the plains and their various cries could be heard from afar. A tightened screech added to the noises that now filled the air. Gulog now suddenly spotted 2 figures at his front, 3 at his back and 4 on his left and right. They seemed to appear out of nowhere as with each turn of his head more would add, armed with bows aimed at his heart.
"Beast of the plains" stated a voice above the tauren's "I am Dyre of the night elves, and this is my clan" he explained as Gulog looked up in anger and surprise.
Well, this isn't my first story that takes place in the wonderful universe of blizzard, but I haven't written in awhile so some constructive criticism would be nice.
Retribution
Prologue
My name is Gulog, I was once a powerful war chieftain of the Tauren Blood hoof tribe of the eastern plains of Southern Kalimdor. We had prospered on these plains with but a single slam of our fist. We swept away the native quill bore of the Wind plains and drove the centaur marauders out of this place... or so we thought. The marauders seamed easy game at first, but over time they grew in numbers. Every time they were driven out they would return with a greater army then before until they had massed an army large enough and strong enough to drive us out of our homes, killing all and leaving few.
I am hunted, along with many others, they are relentless, they kill without care, slaughtering our race from these lands. We cannot run much longer for the tribes in southern Kalimdor are broken and battered. My home was destroyed, and now I survive for a single purpose only. And I shall dish out the retribution.
I
Beginnings
A massive beast overlooked the plains of Southern Kalimdor, taking in the beauty of the setting sun in the west, he breathed deeply and exhaled with a shake and a snort. He stood on a rocky cliff, holding his pole arm axe at his side, slowly, he rose it from the ground and held it with both his hands tapping up and down at a timed pace.
It was not but a week ago that his camp had been raided and burned. And now he was hunted like a deer. This beast was Gulog, the tauren, he took in horrible beauty, far to the north he could see fires burning at the Gorak tribe camp, the marauders must have burnt it as well.
And though he was hunted by these centaurs, he would not let them take him as a prize. He would fight for his life and his freedom and become the hunter. He had been tracking them for several days now and he new they were close, for they too were looking for him. Gulog had no allies in this fight, no arsenal, no army at his back. It was just he and the centaurs... nothing else.
But he was a tauren, tauren do not cower in the face of death, they do not squander in the presence of battle. Tauren believe in honor and dignity, above all bravery to face the challenges of their lives. If he could not hold up to his precedents, he would be nothing more than a simple rat.
Taking one last glance, Gulog turned away and ascended deeper into the gloomy, dry forest that were situated within the Kalimdor barrens. The sun shone brightly through the dry orange leaves. With each step the massive beast took, a low rumble could be noticed. His massive bulk shook the very ground. Brown fur, a ring through his nose and massive muscle would fill out the beast-man.
Tauren were not the greatest hunters, their stride could be heard a mile away and their snorting breaths served not too well either. Though they were very strong and excelled greatly in battle. The tauren were by far one of the strongest beings on the face of Kalimdor or the world for that matter.
Gulog continued to walk through the burnt forest. He could hear the hawks squawking and circling over him. He would not be a feast for any animal in this lifetime or any lifetime, it would be the other way around. Continually looking up and checking for the pesky creatures, Gulog made sure to walk as quietly as his massive Tauren legs could stride. He knew not of the creatures that dwell within the forest, and they could attack at any given time.
The scent grew stronger as he walked west, so he did. Soon enough the night fell, and the glow of amber could be noticed above the canopy. This was either the flame of another tribes camp, or a marauder's. In either case, the area in that vicinity might hold the bastards, and he was getting close. He could smell the burning of wood, and could hear faint whispers of yells beyond the edge of the forest.
The tauren was not afraid, he was Gulog, war chieftain and leader of the blood hoof clan. These marauders were feeble, dimwitted creatures... no match for the wits of a battle hardened elder tauren. For the tauren, they believed strength grew by experience, the older you were, the wiser and more aware you would be in battle.
He was getting close, close enough to taste ash on his tongue, close enough to smell the stench of centaur, close enough even to feel the warmth of the fire against his face. Gulog's 2 large, black, protruding horns shone brightly in the radiating glow. With a snarl and a grunt, he took in the site as he emerged from the forest. Over the plain, he could see looming flames, licking the night sky. It was yet that of another tauren encampment, burnt to the ground and destroyed. He snarled and ran quickly with great speed as the tauren did, dust trailing his feet, the ground shook and rumbling could be heard a mile away. Gulog was angered, angered enough to rip the face off a being.
He reached the encampment and slowed down. He began to walk, slowly, in awe as he strode through the wreckage and burnt corpses of fellow tauren and centaur. Though there were many tauren corpses, the centaurs greatly outweighed Gulog's losses. It appeared the tauren had put up a valiant fight, but these marauders were just too many.
With a roar, Gulog through his fists to the ground, shaking the earth and loosening the wreckage to a falling point as beams and concrete cylinders fell from their resting places. The immense heat scorched Gulog's face, the dead attacked his brain with grief.
Suddenly Gulog sensed something behind him, though he did not move, he stayed where he was. He slowly rose from the ground and propped himself against it, ready for an attack. With lightning speed Gulog grabbed his axe with 2 massive hands, raised it and forced it to the earth with great speed and strength. The axe slammed the ground, raising earth and dust into the air. A shadowy figure was spotted out of the corner of his eye, flying upwards just before the weapon hit the ground.
With a roar, Gulog yanked his weapon out of the ground, looked around and yelled.
"Come out and fight whelp, bring your pretty face to my axe and get what you so righteously deserve" roared Gulog into the once quiet night sky.
The scream awoke the creatures of the plains and their various cries could be heard from afar. A tightened screech added to the noises that now filled the air. Gulog now suddenly spotted 2 figures at his front, 3 at his back and 4 on his left and right. They seemed to appear out of nowhere as with each turn of his head more would add, armed with bows aimed at his heart.
"Beast of the plains" stated a voice above the tauren's "I am Dyre of the night elves, and this is my clan" he explained as Gulog looked up in anger and surprise.
Well, this isn't my first story that takes place in the wonderful universe of blizzard, but I haven't written in awhile so some constructive criticism would be nice.