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Twinyarrow
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Joined: 30 Jan 2011
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re: IC Post Ragefire Chasm (Errasmus)

The paladin's skin stung at the touch of the sudden bright sunlight and beating heat of Orgrimmar. Despite the sweeping skins hung high overhead the city's Drag, the light still bathed him, irritating his already fire-kissed hide and causing him to curse audibly. A nearby passing Orc pulling a cart full of Cactus Pears overheard and stopped, eyeing him with a somewhat surprised expression. For a moment their two gazes met before the Orc's toothy lips split into a grin and he nodded before moving on with a simple, "Zup Zup, friend! You swear like an Orc!"

Despite his mood, Errasmus felt a laugh forming in his mind and throat. He chuckled softly even as he began moving down the hard pack dirt road towards the Valley of Wisdom. His thoughts shifted to a cool swim. Even now, in this skin... water meant refuge to him instinctually. It meant a cooling of his burns and a chance to think. Seeing someone sitting at the bottom of the creek was not such a mean feat when Warlocks routinely earned coin making breathing below the surface a commonplace. Errasmus did not need their aid.

The great iron portcullis that separated the Drag from the Valley of Wisdom stood open. The spikes hanging from it's bottom struck in him a chord not unlike the stories of the Blade's Edge Mountains of Outland. From beyond he could already smell the fresh cool scent of the waters beyond. Sweet water and the heavy musk of Tauren. He did not mind the Tauren... or any race despite history. Which is not to say he held any friends amongst them. All could be useful in the right situation.

The waters edge filled him with a sense of homecoming and he strode into the pool without a sound or rippling the surface. Below his boots he saw crawdads scuttling about as if he was nothing to fear. He ignored them as well and stepped fully into the depths. The waters covering his head by several feet.

Slowly, he relaxed and allowed himself a deep sigh while sinking into a sitting position on the bottom. He allowed the events of the past few hours replay through his mind. The arrival of the Emissary from Steadfast. A deathknight with more mirth in his expression then any Errasmus could recall. Yet he did not think this situation a humorous one. What they had witnessed in that pit was nothing short of atrocious.

Their charge: the strangely stiff-legged Murlock with a far to small helm crushing it's head to impossible dimensions. How when it spoke it sounded like poorly broken Orcish yet with a metallic burst of static, an inhuman voice would converse as clearing as anyone in their small group. How it had brutalized the bodies of those slain and drew shards from their skulls and rammed them into it's own chest where they sank until gone leaving no trace of a wound. All of it was wrong... Yet it was.... familiar.

He wordlessly cursed his state and felt wrath rising within him even as he felt a voice whisper from the edge of his consciousness.

"Be calm. The rage of the ancients will not aid you here. We must think and learn what we may. Clearly something here is unnatural. But flying into a rampage will only end with an Orcish waraxe between our shoulder blades. Try to relax."

Erramus shook his head and trying to shake away the voice. The nagging mother hen with whom he was now bound. Yet, from somewhere amid the chaos... he knew the speaker was right. He cursed his mortal state and sensibilities, but he "knew" that voice was correct. This situation required observation. He and his partner needed to learn all of this to survive despite all they had lost. To grow and become what, together, they might yet be.

The paladin relaxed and closed his eyes rest and letting the cooling waters work upon him... In the morning they would set out and be "eaten by their fate."
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