It is almost dusk, as I walk through the darkening forest. Mother is with me, singing her song to me softly. I smile, remembering the success of her act during the summer festival. I sigh contentedly as we walk towards our home. I hear a rustle in the nearby bushes, and my senses scream 'Danger' but I ignore them, caught in the haunting siren-song of my mothers voice. Suddenly there is a Sharp pain the the back of my head, and the world goes black. I distantly feel my body hit the dirt, before the cold dark takes me.
I wake slowly, the world blurry at first. I can feel by limbs bound, as I lay on the cold ground. It is darker, the sun having nearly set. Then, I turn my head slowly, and see three men, armored in thick leather, with daggers strapped all accross their person, the dark brown of their leathers blending in with the forest behind them. The are standing over Mother. She is bound, and gagged, the top of her tunic ripped open savagely. Faintly I hear them argue over which one of them gets to have his way with her first.
As I listen to thier words, I feel something within me rising to the surface. Something Primal and, very angry. The world begins to go dark, I hear a savage roar escape my lips, and I feel my bonds snap, like thin strings. Before I fade into the Dark, I feel a hatred, an all consuming fire of fury burning inside me. The world goes dark, and I see no more.
I wake once more, and the first thing to greet me is the thick, coppery scent of blood. Somehow, this scent excites me, and I smell something else in the air. My nostrils flare, and I smell the sickly scent of fear. A low growl escapes my throat, before my other senses come awake. I can feel my mothers arms around me tightly, I am held close to her chest, as she croons softly. My eyes open, slowly. The first thing I see is blood, everywhere. The small clearing is drenched with it, and the scoundrels are nowhere to be found...
I stand, pulling myself away from my mother. Deep inside me, I can feel that primal... thing, it feels familiar and alien at the same time. Like a part of me, that I never knew, and I am not sure I wish to. I look around slowly, searching for any trace of the bandits. As my eyes search, I take a few steps forward, leaning down. Pulling aside some tall grass, I see something that excites me, yet fills me with revulsion at the same time. My heart beats like a war drum in my ear as I stare at the shattered remains of one of the bandits, his innards ripped violently from his chest, his ribs splayed out at crooked angles, bent and broken. For the first time, I glance down, and look with stunned horror as I see my clothes. I am covered from head to toe in a thick coat of blood; my fingernails have bits of flesh caked underneath them.
I feel dizzy for a moment, as a flood of memories slams into my mind. I see myself, after I break my bonds, a feral roar on my lips as I run towards the trio, tackling one and ripping his throat out with my teeth as my hands bash his ribcage in. I watch in astounded horror as I rip a chunk of flesh from his neck, swallowing it with a deep growl, my eyes feral.
I watch myself turn,dropping flat as the second bandit swings a dagger at the space my neck had occupied seconds before. I see myself snap up, grabbing the mans arm, and giving it a quick twist, before yanking sharply on it. He screams in pain and agony as he arm is ripped from its socket, before I grab his dagger, slicing him open from gut to neck, his guts spill out, steaming as they lay on the ground. I watch myself snap a powerful kick to his face, and his head snaps backwards, his neck snapping with a sickening 'Crack'.
My feral eyes turn to the last bandit, who appears only a few years ahead of me. I roar, leaping towards him, the dagger thrust into his gut, puncturing his stomach. I grab him, pulling my dagger out, and stabbing him over and over. I watch myself mutilate his body, long after he is dead. Then my mothers voice sounds, its haunting siren song calming me. I see myself drop the dagger, taking a few steps towards her, my lips curled back into a snarl.
______________________________________________________________________________
Shardin wakes suddenly, his eyes wide, the memory of the nightmare still fresh in his mind. He breathes heavily for a few moments, his eyes wild with fear, then he stares into the dark, listening to the sounds of the night whisper around him. Shardin lays quietly in the dark, alone with his thoughts, and questions he is afraid to answer. As Winter snuggles closer around the Shardin, her wing folded over him, like a protective shield, a single word repeats itself in his mind, over and over 'Monster' his mind whispers. Shardin sighs softly, resigning to the fact he would get no more sleep this night.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Shardin 'Ironjaw' Nighthawke - Bio
Name: Shardin Nighthawke
Height: 5' 6”
Weight: 225lbs
Race: Forsaken(Death Knight)
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Nickname: The Ironjaw
Age: 22 (857)
Personality: Shardin has a deep rooted sense of honor, and chivalry within him, and firmly believes that if you can not feel, then you are just as dead as one who lies cold on the ground. He has a commanding presence about him, from his long military career. He can have something of a short temper, especially towards those who he believes dishonorable. He has an intense hatred for those of the San'Layn, whether they swear allegiance to the Lich King, or not. He also has a dislike for Blood Knights, believing the majority a pale mockery of all that being a 'Knight' once stood for.
Brief history
Shardin was born eight hundred and fifty seven years ago. He died eight hundred and thirty five years ago, at the age of twenty two. His skeletal remains were raised during the third war, his bones were found engraved with some sort of runes, which bear a striking resemblance to those on a runeblade. He served as one of the Lich Kings damned minions, until the fateful day Sylvanas broke the Forsaken free of his suffocating grip. Freed from the chains that bound him in servitude, Shardin swore allegiance to Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen.
Shardins lower jaw is made of Saronite, his own having been shattered beyond repair by a dwarven mortar. His comrades christened him 'The Ironjaw' after this event, a name that would become respected and feared. After the surgery, the runes that formerly occupied his lower jaw, were found to have been engraved into the Saronite, by magical means.
Shardin was killed in action, in his last mission under Sylvanas Windrunner. His mission was to rescue two forsaken, who had been captured and taken to Northrend. He found and freed the pair, and was bringing them through a mountain pass, the exit two hundred yards from the extraction point. Scourge hounded them, and Shardin knew the pair would not be able to make the final run, before they were overrun by the scourge. So, he stayed behind and held the pass, while the pair ran for their lives. Shardin took many, many scourge with him, but in the end his wounds proved too much. He was finally slain, but not before his charges had reached the extraction point and been picked up by the zeppelin.
After his death, he was raised as a death knight, once more under the shackles of the damned. He served the Lich King as one of his deadly champions of undeath, until he was finally freed during the battle of Lights Hope Chapel. Deeply disturbed by what he had done, he left for outlands. Shardin hoped that the experience would temper him, and help him come to terms with what he had become. Many weeks passed before he emerged once more from the Dark portal. Shardin, now a Master of Frost set out with a grim determination in his eyes, for the frozen wastes of Northrend.
Height: 5' 6”
Weight: 225lbs
Race: Forsaken(Death Knight)
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Nickname: The Ironjaw
Age: 22 (857)
Personality: Shardin has a deep rooted sense of honor, and chivalry within him, and firmly believes that if you can not feel, then you are just as dead as one who lies cold on the ground. He has a commanding presence about him, from his long military career. He can have something of a short temper, especially towards those who he believes dishonorable. He has an intense hatred for those of the San'Layn, whether they swear allegiance to the Lich King, or not. He also has a dislike for Blood Knights, believing the majority a pale mockery of all that being a 'Knight' once stood for.
Brief history
Shardin was born eight hundred and fifty seven years ago. He died eight hundred and thirty five years ago, at the age of twenty two. His skeletal remains were raised during the third war, his bones were found engraved with some sort of runes, which bear a striking resemblance to those on a runeblade. He served as one of the Lich Kings damned minions, until the fateful day Sylvanas broke the Forsaken free of his suffocating grip. Freed from the chains that bound him in servitude, Shardin swore allegiance to Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen.
Shardins lower jaw is made of Saronite, his own having been shattered beyond repair by a dwarven mortar. His comrades christened him 'The Ironjaw' after this event, a name that would become respected and feared. After the surgery, the runes that formerly occupied his lower jaw, were found to have been engraved into the Saronite, by magical means.
Shardin was killed in action, in his last mission under Sylvanas Windrunner. His mission was to rescue two forsaken, who had been captured and taken to Northrend. He found and freed the pair, and was bringing them through a mountain pass, the exit two hundred yards from the extraction point. Scourge hounded them, and Shardin knew the pair would not be able to make the final run, before they were overrun by the scourge. So, he stayed behind and held the pass, while the pair ran for their lives. Shardin took many, many scourge with him, but in the end his wounds proved too much. He was finally slain, but not before his charges had reached the extraction point and been picked up by the zeppelin.
After his death, he was raised as a death knight, once more under the shackles of the damned. He served the Lich King as one of his deadly champions of undeath, until he was finally freed during the battle of Lights Hope Chapel. Deeply disturbed by what he had done, he left for outlands. Shardin hoped that the experience would temper him, and help him come to terms with what he had become. Many weeks passed before he emerged once more from the Dark portal. Shardin, now a Master of Frost set out with a grim determination in his eyes, for the frozen wastes of Northrend.
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