1. #1
    Maugan Ra's Avatar
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    [RP Story]Unlife of a Warrior

    Unlife of a Warrior


    • Dit is een serieus verhaal dat ik wil uitwerken.
    • Het is een work in progress dus ik ga proberen vaak updates toe te voegen. Daarom zal ik een Crew Member vragen om de comments ertussen uit wissen. Maar voeg gerust maar (gestructureerd)commentaar toe.
    • Tracht het wat tijd te geven als de schrijfstijl niet 100% is, dit is ook maar een hobby voor mij.
    • Ik tracht zoveel mogelijk WoW lore te gebruiken, als ik fout zit maak me dan niet af.
    • En vooral: enjoy!


    "When there is no other way, the perilous path is the only road to salvation."
    - Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Ulthwé -
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    Maugan Ra's Avatar
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    Chapter I, The Uneasy Journey

    Part 1: Wake up!
    ----------------

    "Wake up, yer lazy sack of bones!" A muffled voice was heard from the darkness. "Awaken or I shall personally get Varimathras ter kick yer knuckled rear end!" spoke the voice again, this time louder and angrier. Maugan's eyes lit up with a dark yellow glow. He murmured: "What ignoramus unbeing dares to... grmmbl... " The sound of cracking wood filled the black void around him. Maugan placed his hand on the hilt of his blade that lay beside him. With a loud snap the nails sprung from the lid of the coffin, and a blinding light struck Maugan. A piercing roar shook up the dank hallways of the Undercity that made even the deafest of abominable creatures turn their head(s). He sat himself up in the coffin and covered his eye sockets with his arm. Many uncomfortable crackling sounds could be heard underneath his tabard. The cold embracing stench of the coffin evaporated and was replaced with an even colder odour of rotten flesh and eerie coloured liquids that filled the huge underground ruins of the city that was formerly known as Lordaeron. Slowly Maugan's vision restored, he could distinguish the blurry sight of several pieces of furniture, many coffins scattered across the floor, a bookcase against the wall across him and in front of him stood a dark shaded figure. A huge, brightly lit lantern dangled above his head that was pain to stare at. Several maggots, worms and beetles crawled out the holes and cavities of Maugan's body and hurried to find a new lair within the shaded cracks and pores of the stones that formed the room of the inn.

    "Warriors, bah!" muttered the unidentified voice. A familiar voice it was, though. Only one undead being was bold and brave enough to awaken this composition of rotten flesh, muscle, intestines and bones. "Good to see that you haven't completely decomposed yet. You may still be of use then." said the voice followed by a sneering cackle. Maugan replied: "Trehlas, if a moon comes by that you do not act like a brainless gnome, it shall be too soon!" The dark silhouette of the person standing in front of Maugan at the foot of the coffin became apparent. And Maugan could identify it by the dry, hoarse and heavy voice that it was his brother Trehlas Ra, who had once again disturbed the much-needed slumber that Maugan required. Trehlas mumbled some incoherent words in an unknown language. "Perhaps if it had less air under that thing you call a skull I need not be doing this every other moon!" he snarled. Maugan slammed his fist on the rim of the coffin, which crumbled pretty much the whole right side of the wooden casket. "All right! Enough! I have not the time for this!" he bouldered. Trehlas hissed and stepped away from the coffin, he slowly walked towards the innkeeper and they exchanged a few words in silence and ended with a confirming nod to each other. The dark, stern eyes of Maugan's brother gazed over his shoulder and he said: "Warrior trainer Walker has a job for thee, go and speak with him!" Trehlas slipped the innkeeper a purse of coins that he extracted from a pouch hanging from his belt. A quick nod and the younger of the two Ra's scuttled off into the dark hallway that led to the Mage Quarters. Maugan still sat in the heavily damaged coffin as he rubbed the splinters from his palm. He knew that the gold his brother handed over to the wickedly grinning innkeeper would cover the damage to the establishment's furniture and the moons that he had rested at the inn, as well as any consumed beverage bills or tabs he had. Another grim reminder that even though he was a powerful warrior he still was a failure at his unlife.

    Maugan grabbed the blade lying beside him. It was still covered with dried blood and other substances from moons long past. The memory of the dwarf he decapitated with that blade made the leathery wrappings that covered the hole that was once his mouth, form into a vicious smirk. Without further ado he heaved himself up on his feet, this did not go without more nauseating noises of cracking ribs, joints and bones. He took a deep breath and exhaled a repulsive combination of putrid flesh, alcohol and spongy morel, on which he almost choked and that resulted into nasty coughing. After clearing his throat thoroughly and spitting the remnants onto the coffin beside him, he walked up to the innkeeper. "All is well, I presume, Maugan Ra?" innkeeper Norman asked in a sarcastic tone. Maugan grumbled something and asked: "Where did you leave my gear, you worthless maggot?" The innkeeper's face grimaced and he turned around. On a nearby table stood a small box with a rather large and impressive lock made of gold decorated with various skulls and runic insignia. Instead of using a key to unlock the strongbox, the innkeeper fiddled with the skulls, it seemed a secret combination. The giant lock let out a loud click and the small chest swung open. From what Maugan could notice looking over the innkeeper's back, it contained a few shiny gems, some parchments and a silver key. The key was the only item Norman took from the box, which he slammed shut again. The lock made a melody of clicking sounds. This bizarre strongbox was crafted by gnomish hands, and how this loathsome undead got his greedy, cold claws on it was a long story, which Maugan had heard many times, but he always was too intoxicated to remember it the next moon.

    "In the Vault, you shall find a chest with your initials engraved in it." informed Norman and presented the silver key to Maugan, who in reply grumbled, nodded and snatched the key from Norman's palm. "Seventeen moons have past, Maugan... " The innkeeper told, "Time is not your ally."
    Last edited by Maugan Ra; 19-05-2005 at 21:15.
    "When there is no other way, the perilous path is the only road to salvation."
    - Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Ulthwé -
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  3. #3
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    Chapter I, The Uneasy Journey


    Part 2: Equipment of visions.
    ---------------------------
    The immense hallway of the Undercity was filled with the cold fumigating scent of death and decay. Many atrocious creatures of undeath wandered the floors that circled a huge horrendous building in the middle. It was decorated with sculptures formed like spikes, ribs, skulls and other grim visages and stood amid a pool of thick, green, mucky liquid and was connected to the top floor by two bridges. All around the top walkway were gloomy nooks where undead trade- and craftsmen had set up their vendor booths. One or many bats screeching in the darkness above as they arrived at the flight master occasionally broke the silence in the Undercity.

    Maugan walked out the inn and halted in front of the entrance, he took his time to observe all the surroundings. Several feet to the left of him stood a group of tauren warriors huddled up into a tight group. From what Maugan understood from their whispering they were contemplating plans to seize another grand treasure. Now and then the merry group of huge adventurers let out a sneering laugh or a boisterous guffaw as they consumed flasks, mugs and jugs of ale. Maugan ignored this drunken party; they would certainly find death sooner then a copper coin in their condition. Peering to his right Maugan saw two shady figures hiding in the shadow discussing sharply about a package one of them was holding. At a booth behind them a bulky orc warrior engaged a hefty conversation with a vendor, which lead to a brawl. The orc threw the table on which various armaments were displayed to his side. He drew his axe and advanced on the vendor who was panicky calling the guards. But before the orc could take two paces, a group of heavily armed Deathguards came charging in and surrounded the green-skinned troublemaker. Forced to disarm and with several razor-sharp blades poking in his back he was escorted towards the exit. All the individuals that bothered to look up at this pathetic display of orc rage turned their minds back on their own business.
    As did Maugan, he descended the short flight of stairs that lead towards the central vault. The disgruntled warrior walked up to the window where a mindless zombie banker stood behind. The banker said in a guttural voice: "May I hhhhelp ye...". He peered straight in front of him and a green think drop of slimy drool ran down his chin. Maugan's face became very stern and he had to restrain himself not to start insulting this loathsome creature, he hated these mindless pieces of walking flesh. Maugan grunted and pointed to a chest that stood behind the rotting undead. The chest was quite big and heavy; it was made out of wood with silver reinforced corners. The lock was a big skull in which two letters were engraved: M and R. The undead banker nodded slowly and a short silence fell. A soft moaning voice was heard from the stack of chest in the middle of the vault. The chest began to tremble and move, the whole pile of chest began to shake and Maugan's chest slowly jerked from under the heavy loaded heap of chests and boxes. Maugan was staring at all the commotion with the chest when his vision of his chest became blurry, and also turned to a bluish shade. More mourning was heard from the same soft silent voice and a sudden piercing shriek made Maugan's spine crackle. Then, a translucent, dim, cloudy spectre appeared which was dragging the chest. It lifted the chest up and flew out of one of the higher windows of the building. After the chest was dropped in front of Maugan's knuckled feet, the blue spectre vanished into thin air. With the silver key that was still tightly held in Maugan's hand the bulky chest was unlocked. The hinges at the back of the chest made a screeching noise as the lid was pushed open. Inside the trunk all of Maugan's possessions laid. What immediately caught Maugan's shimmering eye was his trusty sword, it lay rested diagonally across the chest atop all the armour and a big pouch. This weapon had been by Maugan's side as long as he can remember. The sheath in which the blade was enveloped was made of a very strong and thick dragon leather, several runic markings and mithrill skulls decorated the exterior. It had a gold chain attached to it from which it could be hung from a belt. The hilt of the sword was made of silver and dyed red; it was decorated and reinforced by a thin mithrill spiral that went all around the handle. A large red gem was attached to the end of the handle, tightly clasped by four mithrill spikes. Maugan kneeled down in front of the chest and placed his hand on the hilt of his weapon. A cold chill flowed over his arm. He picked up his sword and slowly unsheathed the blade. The scimitar-shaped, curved blade with razor sharp edge glared brightly, reflecting the light of the lantern that hung above him. Maugan stared at the reflection of his own face on the blade.
    Everything became dark around him, the air emptier and more silent. A woman's voice spooked inside his head, she was whispering things in a language unknown to Maugan. He closed his eyelids and images of swirling red and black colours filled his mind. The whisperings became louder and screams of the woman were heard in the background. Softly wailing, ghostly sounds now mingled in with the noise. All of a sudden the commotion ceased and the surroundings turned dark and silent again. Maugan opened his eyes, but things hadn't turned to normal, all around him a raging inferno blazed heavily, the overwhelming sound of roaring flames was deafening. Everywhere scattered laid charred corpses and beings that collapsed after taking several paces while they were ablaze. Yellow and orange flames reached high into a thick black smoke. His sword that was tightly grasped in his hand began to tremble and lit up with a crimson glow swirling around the blade. Like a vortex all the flames were sucked towards the sword and in a blurry haze Maugan's vision restored, he now saw the dark, dank, crowded hallway he saw before. The sword was still glowing and the jewel at the hilt now shining brightly.

    Maugan did not hesitate too long and hurried collecting all his other possessions from the chest. First he took his belt, wrapped it around his waist, sealed the buckle and attached the golden chain of his sheathed sword to the belt. He clutched a huge, heavy, thick, emerald armoured breastplate under his right arm and stuffed it with the cape and tabard the lay folded on top of his greaves. Those greaves he took out of the crate and quickly jumped into. A pair of sturdy gauntlets was the next item he jammed in the breastplate. He grabbed two pouches: a big one with a long arm strap, which made many clinking sounds, like bottles hitting each other and a small, light pouch and hung these over his left shoulder. His horned helmet he quickly shoved over his head. Then he took his old battered and heavily scarred shield and equipped it on his left arm. The final item he took were his leg guards and put it into his right hand under then breastplate. He slammed the silver chest shut, turned the lock and put the key in one of the pouches. Maugan ran towards the western hallway and vanished in the dark corridor. After a short walk, Maugan exited the dark passage on the other side and was now on the outer ring of the Undercity. His breastplate now gently clanged over his chest the leg guards rattled on his legs each time he took a step. The cloak waved on his back. The big pouch hung across his chest with the long strap and the little pouch was attached to the right side of his belt, on the left side a dimly glowing sheathed blade swung in motion with Maugan's pace. He followed the road that lead towards the Warrior's Quarter, where he would meet with Warrior Trainer Walker for his quest.
    Last edited by Maugan Ra; 08-06-2005 at 20:12.
    "When there is no other way, the perilous path is the only road to salvation."
    - Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Ulthwé -
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  4. #4
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    Chapter I, The Uneasy Journey


    Part 3: Obey the deceiver.
    -------------------------
    The canal that streamed through the middle of the hallway bubbled calmly and the green liquid radiated brightly. Many heavy armed beings of undeath were afoot here, roaming between the vendor stalls that had been set up on the eastern side of the canal. These booths were stocked with a wide selection of strange, exotic and powerful weaponry and defence items. In the south of the quarters the merchants had set up tables and weapon racks with weapons ranging from razor-sharp daggers and krysses to humongous maces and mauls. Further to the north, near the blacksmithing forge, stood the vendors that provided the thickest in plate and chain armours. The few simple, cheap and plain armour pieces looked pale compared to the majestic full plate mail sets encrusted with various, brightly shimmering jewels and gems, crafted from luxurious ores and metals. A thick scent of molten iron and burning coal filled the air. The constant racket of hammers clanging down on iron was painful to the hearing, every so often it was replace with a sizzling, hissing sound of red hot steel that is immersed in a trough of ice-cold water.

    Clashing swords, chopping axes, bludgeoning maces, parrying shields, shrieking screams, all sorts of intimidating noises were heard from the western wing of the huge quarters of the Warriors. The practice area was filled with new servants of the Dark Lady, their pathetic display of fighting skills and inability to properly wield a blade or other weapon was corrected and steered by the ruthless insults and verbal abuse the master mentor spouted at trainees. The new underlings were forced to spar amongst each other in an attempt they'd learn some basic skills. Practice dummies set up around the fighting floor were diligently being battered by the weak, sluggish recruits. Next to the training grounds a group of more advanced fighters and warriors stood in a circle loudly cheering and encouraging two duelling individuals.

    Maugan passed the last archway of the entrance to the Warrior's Quarter. He went straight to the building where Warrior Trainer Walker resided, crossing the bridge across the murky canal and past the boisterous undead at training grounds. As he approached the main room where Walker and his consorts lingered he heard a hard, stern voice become louder and louder. The heavily armoured warrior stood in the doorway of Walker's quarters. A bulky figure in the middle of the room was shouting orders at a group of recruits standing in front of him. "Failure! Miserable wretches! All of you!" he roared. Walker continued to yell all sorts of insults at the company of seven undead: "A decaying dead dwarf would have done a better job then you moronic bags of meat!". Maugan intervened the Warrior Trainer's tirade. "Walker... I see you tongue makes up for your lack of tact." Walker became quiet, he grunted at the horde of fighters and they rapidly scattered towards the exits. He now turned himself to face Maugan. Walker was clad in a dark grey full plate armour suit. To both sides of his belt two identical swords were attached; two huge, scimitar shaped, curved edges with sharp teeth on the inside. A pitch-black cape draped on his back waved calmly in the breeze that flew through the room. The two warriors gazed coldly into each other’s eyes. The tension rose. Maugan's fingers tapped nervously on the hilt of his sword. The muscles on his body were strained. One quick swipe would end it all. His sword was sharp enough to cleave through Walker's thick neck. All would be over, no more lies and deception from this loathsome vermin. Undead usually do not recall much from their mortal life, but Maugan would never forget Walker’s vile deeds. How he willingly led his whole town into the hands of the Scourge, the selfless executions of all those that were unable to pick up arms after their transformation into undeath and with the rise of the Forsaken, how he cowardly gathered himself behind the Dark Lady herself, claiming to know vital information about the Scourge and that he was Arthas' right hand. This however would imply serious consequences for his existence. The dastard was now under protection by Lady Sylvanas' Deathguards, any harm inflicted on him would be visited ten-fold upon his assailant.

    Maugan released his hand from his sword and folded his arms. "Well..." Maugan grumbled, "I have better things to do then see you tyrannize a few meagre worms." Walker took a few paces and approached the warrior. He stuck his hand in a pouch on the left side of his heavy black leather belt. Maugan released his arms and set himself up in a more defensive stance. He placed his back on the handle of his blade. From the small pack on Walker's thigh, he revealed a rolled up scroll and presented it to Maugan. "You!" Walker snapped, "... must eliminate this! And do not take as much time about it as you did making your way over here! I will grant you time to find out who and where this preposterous mortal is. But you must return its head to me before the next crescent moon!" Maugan unfurled the parchment on which a crude sketch of a night elf's face was drawn. "Bah!" he yelled, "you have goons for these kind of worthless concerns. Why bother me with these inane details again?" his strong voice echoed through the room and the hallways, with an angry face he looked up at Walker who was not amused. Walker replied: "Must you be reminded about your allegiance every time your brain gets drowned in a barrel of ale? Perhaps I should scald it into your forehead, you are my slave now and..." In a blink of an eye, a loud clashing noise of swords trembled across the room. A red glowing blade was obstructed less then an inch above Walker's forehead. Maugan was pressing down hard on his sword, but Walker's parry prevented him from inflicting any damage. Walker grinned at Maugan and kicked the attacking warrior in the abdomen. He fell back on the ground and released the sword from his grip, which clattered down on the ground. "I have been put in charge of training all these inferior deadlings for a reason, you pathetic fool!" he yelled with a booming voice. The warrior trainer raised his arm and snapped his fingers. Two Deathguards came marching in and grabbed Maugan, who still sat on the ground. They dragged him outside and tossed the defeated warrior on the walkway. Walker followed and was holding the Maugan's blade. He inspected the craftsmanship of the sword briefly before launching it straight at the overpowered fighter. It landed right in front of Maugan's feet and embedded itself in the pavement.
    "When there is no other way, the perilous path is the only road to salvation."
    - Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Ulthwé -
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  5. #5
    Tielie007's Avatar
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    Hehe zalig, gij gaat erwel voor, spijtig dat het niet af is voor donderdag, dan kan ik heb afprinten en meenemen opreis want ik lees absoluut ni graag maar een WoW verhaal is wel cool. Herinnert mij aan de tijden dat ik WoW kon spelen. Gelukkig alsek terug ben kan ik weer spelen ^^.

    Grtz
    "I don't have a drinking problem. I drink ...... get drunk ...... fall down ....... NO PROBLEM!"
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  6. #6
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    Quote Originally Posted by Maugan Ra
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    • Dit is een serieus verhaal dat ik wil uitwerken.

    vervolg blijft weer zolang weg
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  7. #7
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    Quote Originally Posted by skateaapje
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    vervolg blijft weer zolang weg
    komaan, laat die gast doen en ga weg.
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  8. #8
    Maugan Ra's Avatar
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    Tis een hobby die veel tijd vraagt, ik zit soms wel uren te peinzen over 1 zinnetje. En een werkende mens heeft niet altijd tijd in overvloed... kzal morgen nog eens een efforreke proberen te doen.
    "When there is no other way, the perilous path is the only road to salvation."
    - Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Ulthwé -
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  9. #9
    Thobes's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Maugan Ra
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    Tis een hobby die veel tijd vraagt, ik zit soms wel uren te peinzen over 1 zinnetje. En een werkende mens heeft niet altijd tijd in overvloed... kzal morgen nog eens een efforreke proberen te doen.
    Doe maar op uw gemak
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