Post by crestor on May 9, 2014 6:19:40 GMT
This is a flash fiction story in the form of a dream. A potential ‘what if’ of events that never happened. Of course I was also mightly influenced by the rumors of The Dark Below when they first appeared, and that I wished to do something related to Old Gods.
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The descent into the dark depths below was sudden. One moment he was laid across a poorly put together cot of various bedding materials and furs, and the next he was falling through water. The encroaching darkness of the water weaved around his vision, the cloudy liquid acting as if it was air rather than the ocean’s deep. As he descended in the ocean’s hungry maw the head of his prized Proto-drake fell quickly past him, it’s head severed from it’s body. Unable to move, and locked in his descent his attempts to swim upward were futile. A quick swim to the surface would’ve been ideal if the water had the feeling of water. Instead it felt like he was paddling upwards through the night’s cold air.
The speed of his descent hastened, but slowed down as his prized claymore shattered in twain stopped at eye level as if to display the portion of his mechanical arm still attached to the hilt of the blade, A perfect hold for his blade, the slow passing made it seem it was undamaged — save for the liquid within the prosthetic to simulate blood when he was struck leaking out of the halved forearm — from what caused him to take this quick descent. The water slowly got colder, or may be it was his imagination that made him believe that the ocean’s icy touch started to penetrate his armor. He struggled one last time before the encroaching darkness enveloped him.
His vision became clouded as several memories of him attending the Siege of Orgrimmar as a hired hand to help with the front. The war cries of the new horde that followed Garrosh echoed in his ears as they popped from the sudden change in pressure. His descent slowed to a stop as the darkness showed him his final part in the fight against Garrosh. The Warrior cleaves into the heel of the fallen Warchief — a strike that was one of the many that lead to his fall — with a strike true of form, and with his jagged claymore rending enough damage as it could wrought. The slice of flesh, and the tearing of tendon in the Sha-infested body of the Warchief was the only congratulations that answered his strike. The sword’s dark blade left the wound cleanly before impacting the floor. The warchief fell, landing upon the ground with a ‘thud’. The lifeless corpse of the Orc looked pleasing in his eyes, a mental note of his work was hallmarked with a smirk before he turned his attention towards the remains of Y’shaarj’s heart.
The heart of the Old God was siphoned for powers that only Garrosh wished to wield upon the world, and carve it into his own image. The mere sight of the heart made his mind tingle as his mental defenses weakened in the sight of the organ. The dark mass of purple flesh, and black meat was the only thing needed to shatter a hole in his defenses. Decades of remaining uncorrupt in Azeroth was slowly plucked, and unraveled in an instant. This was the only line of defense that kept him hidden from Wrathion’s scanning visions a side from the brutalization of the assassins sent for him. The deadening dark presence only touched his mind, and enveloped it in a sickly tentacle before his defenses engaged. Shaking the presence from his head the Warrior reacted by unsheathing his rifle, pulling back several levers, before firing a mass of bolts towards the heart. Ensuring what is dead, stays dead.
The dark clouds of the deep pulled back and flowed over the man’s battle worn armor. Coming to a rest at his head and traced shadowy tendrils down towards his neck. The dark words of the Old Gods entered his mind, hissing and pulling at his damaged mind. Attempting to break through, and pull another pawn into the fold. As the warrior resisted the cloud threw him towards the bottom at a quicker descent than previously experienced. Again the ocean’s waters fell like air. The quick descent caused his armor to compress and crack tightening over his body. Either causing the armor below his plate to compact into his skin, and tear into it, or break through the plate. As the warrior reached the lightly illuminated sands of the depths he landed with a thud. The water kicking up sand around the fallen warrior.
He’d fallen far too much, way too fast.
The slow ease into the wet sand was the only welcome comfort similar to a bed before the warrior struggled to a stand. The lights around him illuminated the area as if he was underwater, but yet the environment mimicked that of the Abyssal Reaches of Vashj’ir. His armor compressed from his movement the plate coming more form fitting as it melded into his flesh. A sudden gash in his chest broke open leading the leather and chain to float out of his armor before the plate contracted to a form fitting covering from the sheer pressure of the ocean’s deep. He looked around, eyeing his surroundings.
The warrior stood in the midst of a clearing among deep ocean fauna, and a dark forest of Coral in front of him in the shape of trees. The exotic fauna behind him provided him enough light to illuminate the entrance to the coral forest. A torrent of water quickly tore forth from the mouth of the dark forest knocking the man back into the sand as the whispers of the old god slithered back into his mind. The presence breaking the shielding between dreams and reality. Tendrils encased his mind as the voice whispered. “Your ancestors scream in agony as they’re devoured… Dragon.” the warrior shook his head side to side as he attempted to rid the voice from his mind. This wasn’t right. His mental protections always worked for him.. except in the dark of the ocean. The luminescence from the fauna behind him suddenly went dark as the dark cackle of a greater creature echoed throughout the sunken forest.
He stepped forward towards the forest with a reluctant step quickly the sand envelops his boot. Slowly pulling down the plate encased warrior down into the muck. The voice cackled, hissed, and laughed at it’s accomplishment. Having captured it’s target. Just as the shadowy tendrils prodded further into his mind he yelled a silent battlecry. The water around him started to boil, and churn madly around him. As the darkness slowly enclosed upon him he closed his eyes waiting for the worse.
“Lord Athelsten! Ship docked at port. Are you able to move, mi’lord?” The familiar voice of a guardsman broke his concentration from his dream. The pulling void in his mind left him with a headache. As the large man swung his legs over the side of his cot and brought himself up to a sitting position he glanced around the cabin. “Feh. I’ll get moving. Just.. give me a moment.” The guard nodded, looking over the weary warrior even locking his eyes on the portion of his arm where burnt metal met flesh. The warrior glanced annoyingly at the Guard as he readied himself to equip his armor. “Go.” the single word left his lips harshly, and commandingly. The guard simply bowed and stepped backwards. Leaving without a word, already assuming that this man has already seen a lot.
The warrior pulled on one boot before he sighed, stretching his arms and rubbing his head. Confused on the nightmare he experienced. It was indeed different than his normal fare. He thought on this as he readied himself. Grabbing his claymore from under his cot, and placing his vital-targeting goggles on his head before walking out of the Ship’s cabin and into the damaged Stormwind Harbor.
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The descent into the dark depths below was sudden. One moment he was laid across a poorly put together cot of various bedding materials and furs, and the next he was falling through water. The encroaching darkness of the water weaved around his vision, the cloudy liquid acting as if it was air rather than the ocean’s deep. As he descended in the ocean’s hungry maw the head of his prized Proto-drake fell quickly past him, it’s head severed from it’s body. Unable to move, and locked in his descent his attempts to swim upward were futile. A quick swim to the surface would’ve been ideal if the water had the feeling of water. Instead it felt like he was paddling upwards through the night’s cold air.
The speed of his descent hastened, but slowed down as his prized claymore shattered in twain stopped at eye level as if to display the portion of his mechanical arm still attached to the hilt of the blade, A perfect hold for his blade, the slow passing made it seem it was undamaged — save for the liquid within the prosthetic to simulate blood when he was struck leaking out of the halved forearm — from what caused him to take this quick descent. The water slowly got colder, or may be it was his imagination that made him believe that the ocean’s icy touch started to penetrate his armor. He struggled one last time before the encroaching darkness enveloped him.
His vision became clouded as several memories of him attending the Siege of Orgrimmar as a hired hand to help with the front. The war cries of the new horde that followed Garrosh echoed in his ears as they popped from the sudden change in pressure. His descent slowed to a stop as the darkness showed him his final part in the fight against Garrosh. The Warrior cleaves into the heel of the fallen Warchief — a strike that was one of the many that lead to his fall — with a strike true of form, and with his jagged claymore rending enough damage as it could wrought. The slice of flesh, and the tearing of tendon in the Sha-infested body of the Warchief was the only congratulations that answered his strike. The sword’s dark blade left the wound cleanly before impacting the floor. The warchief fell, landing upon the ground with a ‘thud’. The lifeless corpse of the Orc looked pleasing in his eyes, a mental note of his work was hallmarked with a smirk before he turned his attention towards the remains of Y’shaarj’s heart.
The heart of the Old God was siphoned for powers that only Garrosh wished to wield upon the world, and carve it into his own image. The mere sight of the heart made his mind tingle as his mental defenses weakened in the sight of the organ. The dark mass of purple flesh, and black meat was the only thing needed to shatter a hole in his defenses. Decades of remaining uncorrupt in Azeroth was slowly plucked, and unraveled in an instant. This was the only line of defense that kept him hidden from Wrathion’s scanning visions a side from the brutalization of the assassins sent for him. The deadening dark presence only touched his mind, and enveloped it in a sickly tentacle before his defenses engaged. Shaking the presence from his head the Warrior reacted by unsheathing his rifle, pulling back several levers, before firing a mass of bolts towards the heart. Ensuring what is dead, stays dead.
The dark clouds of the deep pulled back and flowed over the man’s battle worn armor. Coming to a rest at his head and traced shadowy tendrils down towards his neck. The dark words of the Old Gods entered his mind, hissing and pulling at his damaged mind. Attempting to break through, and pull another pawn into the fold. As the warrior resisted the cloud threw him towards the bottom at a quicker descent than previously experienced. Again the ocean’s waters fell like air. The quick descent caused his armor to compress and crack tightening over his body. Either causing the armor below his plate to compact into his skin, and tear into it, or break through the plate. As the warrior reached the lightly illuminated sands of the depths he landed with a thud. The water kicking up sand around the fallen warrior.
He’d fallen far too much, way too fast.
The slow ease into the wet sand was the only welcome comfort similar to a bed before the warrior struggled to a stand. The lights around him illuminated the area as if he was underwater, but yet the environment mimicked that of the Abyssal Reaches of Vashj’ir. His armor compressed from his movement the plate coming more form fitting as it melded into his flesh. A sudden gash in his chest broke open leading the leather and chain to float out of his armor before the plate contracted to a form fitting covering from the sheer pressure of the ocean’s deep. He looked around, eyeing his surroundings.
The warrior stood in the midst of a clearing among deep ocean fauna, and a dark forest of Coral in front of him in the shape of trees. The exotic fauna behind him provided him enough light to illuminate the entrance to the coral forest. A torrent of water quickly tore forth from the mouth of the dark forest knocking the man back into the sand as the whispers of the old god slithered back into his mind. The presence breaking the shielding between dreams and reality. Tendrils encased his mind as the voice whispered. “Your ancestors scream in agony as they’re devoured… Dragon.” the warrior shook his head side to side as he attempted to rid the voice from his mind. This wasn’t right. His mental protections always worked for him.. except in the dark of the ocean. The luminescence from the fauna behind him suddenly went dark as the dark cackle of a greater creature echoed throughout the sunken forest.
He stepped forward towards the forest with a reluctant step quickly the sand envelops his boot. Slowly pulling down the plate encased warrior down into the muck. The voice cackled, hissed, and laughed at it’s accomplishment. Having captured it’s target. Just as the shadowy tendrils prodded further into his mind he yelled a silent battlecry. The water around him started to boil, and churn madly around him. As the darkness slowly enclosed upon him he closed his eyes waiting for the worse.
“Lord Athelsten! Ship docked at port. Are you able to move, mi’lord?” The familiar voice of a guardsman broke his concentration from his dream. The pulling void in his mind left him with a headache. As the large man swung his legs over the side of his cot and brought himself up to a sitting position he glanced around the cabin. “Feh. I’ll get moving. Just.. give me a moment.” The guard nodded, looking over the weary warrior even locking his eyes on the portion of his arm where burnt metal met flesh. The warrior glanced annoyingly at the Guard as he readied himself to equip his armor. “Go.” the single word left his lips harshly, and commandingly. The guard simply bowed and stepped backwards. Leaving without a word, already assuming that this man has already seen a lot.
The warrior pulled on one boot before he sighed, stretching his arms and rubbing his head. Confused on the nightmare he experienced. It was indeed different than his normal fare. He thought on this as he readied himself. Grabbing his claymore from under his cot, and placing his vital-targeting goggles on his head before walking out of the Ship’s cabin and into the damaged Stormwind Harbor.