Wednesday, January 13, 2010

To be. Or not... RP.

So, I figured I'd give role playing a serious go to see how I like it.  I haven't yet stepped foot into the realm of RP, but I have enjoyed writting up a back story for my character.  Please, let me know what you think (and feel free to point out any gross RP mistakes I may be committing).

Dusk falls on the Scalemane tribe with the sound of crackling fires and the smell of cooking fish. Atop a steep hill, long shadows and large silhouettes dance across bright canvas tents that glow red from the setting sun. From one such tent, two Tauren boys race recklessly down hill toward a glassy lake.

“Slow down…” the younger, much smaller boy yells after his older brother, “… you’ll break it!”

“Nonsense, Beck…” the elder boy replies, “you just can’t keep up.”

Those words were uttered often by Torgra to his younger brother, always with the intent to elicit a response. And Beck, stubborn and proud as they come, always obliged. Instantly Beck’s strides quickened down the hill… and then widened… and then gained momentum too great to control. As Torg slowed to a stop at the glassy lake’s edge, Beck came stumbling, head first, into it.

“You know, you’re going to scare off all the fish.” Torg declared as he began to bait the shiny new fisherman's pole he had carried securely down the hill.

Without a response, Beck sludged back onto the bank refusing to shake off the water he was dripping wet with.

Mere minutes passed before the now dryer young Tauren began poking his brother for a chance to wield the shiny new fisherman's pole. Gradually, pokes grew into grabs, and grabs into lunges, until a tug of war broke out on the lake’s edge. The elder Tauren took joy in jerking his smaller brother back and forth violently to his left and right, though Beck, to his credit, never loosened his grip.

Atop the hill, Torrag Scalemane grew tired of the ruckus his two boys were causing down by the fishing hole. With one echoing grunt he froze them both in their place, then made his way down to them. The brothers held their heads low as their father approached. Beck quickly released his grip on the pole and Torgra silently relinquished it to his father’s outstretched hand. Beck’s head lowered further as Torrag took a knee in front of him.

“You are very young, my son. Trust that the Earthmother would not have given you the heart of a giant had she not intended you to have the body to go with it. Have faith.”

Rising to his feet, Chief Scalemane now stood over his eldest son.

“Torgra, son of Torrag, you may soon have the strength to move mountains. I pray you will one day grow wise enough to know better than to try."

At that, the sun sizzled as it set into the lake’s horizon. With it came the dark of night and the menacing sound of flaming arrows ripping through canvas!

Screams rained down from atop the steep hill as a score of Centaur laid siege to the encampment. Immediately, Chief Scalemane pulled close his two sons.

“Beck, take this pole and swim as far out into the lake as you can. Don’t look back, just swim.”

Unsheathing his sword, he spoke again “Torg, take my sword and stay on my heals. We make our stand at the grand tent.”

Turning back to glare at his tribe's burning camp, Torrag Scalemane spoke for the final time.

“Sons, heed my word.”

A dive in the water did little to dull the volume of his father’s battle shout. Beck, once again headlong into the lake, swam harder and faster than he ever had. In the back of his mind he wondered where this speed had been during the many races he had against his elder brother in this very lake. With each stroke he listened more intently for sounds coming from camp. With each stroke the number of shouts deminished, until there were none. He heard nothing but the sounds of his swimming for many long moments, and dared not disobey his father by looking back. Suddenly...


Something much larger than the little Tauren entered the water behind him. No victory drums had been sounded, no calls from the chief had been heard. Beck was certain a Centaur had come into the lake after him, and fear commanded that his already burning muscles work faster, harder to escape.

Several more moments passed and the noise from behind was quickly closing the gap. The exhausted young Tauren was now fighting more to stay afloat than he was to flee his pursuer. Shorter strokes did less to raise his head above water. Longer pauses sent him further beneath the surface. His pursuer was practically on top of him now, and Beck had no where to go but down.

Mustering all the strength he had left, the youngest Scalemane lifted his head above water to draw in one last breath, then he let the lake's pull take him. No sooner had he submerged than was his pursuer upon him. Beck readied himself for the sting of a spear, but instead felt the grip of a familiar hand on the back of his mane.

Torg lifted Beck's head above water and commaned him to "Swim."

Confused and exhausted, Beck glared up at his brother.

"Torg? How? What happend to father?"

"Swim." the elder Tauren again commanded.

"Torg!?" Beck shouted, again slowly sinking below the surface. "What happ...!"

The lake choked off his words as water filled his lungs. Torg was losing the battle to keep them both affloat. The brothers Scalemane locked gazes for a moment before... Torg let slip his grip.

As he sank deep into the lake, Beck saw his brother swimming away, still holding the sword handed to him by their father. Sinking further, he looked with a smile at his own hand still wrapped around the shiny new fisherman's pole. "Heed my word." he heard his father's voice ring in his head. "Have faith."

On the far shore, Torg looked back to see the fires of his tribe's camp slowly burning themselves out. No more silhouettes could be seen atop the hill. Searching for a sign of his brother, Torg turned his eyes to the once again glassy lake but saw nothing save for his own guilt ridden reflection. "Heed my word." he heard his father's voice ring in his head. And with that, Torg turned to make his way down the long road toward the Barrens.


Moonlight danced as new ripples formed on the surface of the lake. On it's edge, at the base of the hill, a young Tauren sludged onto the bank refusing to shake off the water he is dripping wet with. In his hand, a shiny new fisherman's pole that once belonged to his father.

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