In class drabble
(( I'll probably delete this later -- I just couldn't listen to my professor anymore >_>. ))
If you were to ask an orc if he enjoyed silence, he would tell you no. He would tell you he relished the sounds of battle -- the drums, the war cries, the sound of bone coming in contact with metal or wood. A quiet existence was one free of war -- of the culture the race had been built on.
Korok enjoyed all of those things, but age and dark times passing had taught him much. He was as strong as he had always been, yet the shaman could appreciate being nestled in a snowy mountain peak where he only had the sounds of the howling wolves and wind to keep him company. He had moved his den with Coldsnap after she had bore her pups to a lower altitude, as she was getting even older than he and the young would not be able to stand the harsh conditions.
He had bundled up his furs, keeping the squirming pups inside to keep their still-developing coats a chance to warm them. Coldsnap lead her companion faithfully through the storm that had picked up, slowing to allow the orc to use her to brace himself against the steeper, slippery rock. Occasionally, she would raise her head and howl over the raging wind and listen to response from her brethren. Nothing ever returned her calls, which had disoriented the older frostwolf into a halt.
Korok could hear the puppies whining in the furs -- the sounds of the angry storm had startled them, coupled with their desire to roll about in their mother's fur rather than the blanket of mammoth they were left with. The old orc rested a hand on his frostwolf companion; she had done well with so little guidance. Holding the furrs against him, the shaman closed his eyes, feeling the wind currents whipping through his braids, chilling his bone.
There, through the astral plane, he was met with the elements of Ice and Air in a dispute. Air demanded dominion over Ice at these high elevations, yet Ice believed she layed claim to the high mountains of Alterac as a whole and did not want to be disrupted. To interrupt them may have made the storm worse.
Strengthening his presence in the astral plane, Korok took the form of an ethereal frostwolf. To an outside eye, he appeared as a canine comprised completely of water. Shoulderblades and hips were marked with the marks of the primary elements: Earth, Fire, Water, and Air. Across his back, the symbol of the horde was displayed proudly, accented with bone bands around his ankles that jingled when he walked. When his ears flicked, the golden hoops that pierced them flopped comically. A bark would catch the attention of the angry spirits.
They spoke in Kalimag to him -- the language of the elements. Ice chastized him for his intrusion and demanded he make his piece quickly while Air merely watched. Calmly, he spoke to Air, asking that she rescind enough to let his family pass. He acknowledged Ice in kind, asking that she too still her quarrel long enough for safe passage. Before Ice could protest, Air had agreed to lessen her winds long enough for them to move ahead. Ice had little sympathy for Korok, but agreed to rest so long as Air would. Quietly, he bowed low and thanked them.
The orc's eyes opened, noting the absence of harsh wind pushing his braids. The piles of snow that had formed on his shoulders was easily shaken away and did not rebuild itself instantly. Coldsnap had already begun to move ahead.
Adjusting his arms, Korok held the pups closer to his chest to keep them warm and smiled softly at the sound of snoring.
He could appreciate the silence...and perhaps the little things that broke it, too.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Birds were always delightful to watch in the summer. Quel'thalas often lit up with sound and color in the morning as the songbirds greeted a new day. One always had to be awake very early to catch them trading trees. You could never get close enough to the treetops to really see them. That was why the art of levitating was one of the first things Kyrael had sought to teach himself (second to healing whenever he failed and fell too hard on the ground).
The young Quel'dorei pushed the bridge of his glasses closer to his face. He had never imagined he would be able to fly, and yet there he was -- high above Silvermoon City in the dead of night, staring down at the city that never slept. It was different than what it used to be; his home was long gone, as well as the remnants of his family. They didn't call themselves Quel'dorei anymore, either.
Then again, Kyrael hadn't expected much of what had happened to him. He was thankful for his proficiency of the art of levitating himself and other objects, else he would never have been able to read again. After all...how could a ghost hold a book, let alone turn its pages?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Vynlorel hated fishing.
Even in the beautiful mountain region of Grizzly Hills, Vynlorel couldn't stand sharing his company. The bears and such were fine, but the area had become fairly overrun with traffic in recent times. Even the large sunsaber sleeping beside him hadn't scared them off.
The farstrider rolled a lit-cigar between his lips, a concentrated frown set in his features. Now that he thought about it, he was rather sick of Northrend as a whole. The damned Scourge never ended up here, and it caused his blood to boil every time he saw one. They had leveled his home, slaughtered his family and, perhaps worst of all, turned his sister against all mortalkind.
He perked at attention when he saw a trout chasing his lure. Staying perfectly still, he waited, ignoring Shantiel's movement beside him. Just before the fish had taken his lure, the cat beside him leapt up and roared, meeting the claws of a panther not native to the area. The Sin'dorei perked, startled and knoc=cked his bow as the beast fled. In the distance, he saw another shadow dance away.
"Looks like we're out of dinner again, Shanti," the elf grumbled, putting the cigar out against his boot. As he turned to leave, he noticed the cat carrying the salmon away between her teeth. So much for fishing.
If you were to ask an orc if he enjoyed silence, he would tell you no. He would tell you he relished the sounds of battle -- the drums, the war cries, the sound of bone coming in contact with metal or wood. A quiet existence was one free of war -- of the culture the race had been built on.
Korok enjoyed all of those things, but age and dark times passing had taught him much. He was as strong as he had always been, yet the shaman could appreciate being nestled in a snowy mountain peak where he only had the sounds of the howling wolves and wind to keep him company. He had moved his den with Coldsnap after she had bore her pups to a lower altitude, as she was getting even older than he and the young would not be able to stand the harsh conditions.
He had bundled up his furs, keeping the squirming pups inside to keep their still-developing coats a chance to warm them. Coldsnap lead her companion faithfully through the storm that had picked up, slowing to allow the orc to use her to brace himself against the steeper, slippery rock. Occasionally, she would raise her head and howl over the raging wind and listen to response from her brethren. Nothing ever returned her calls, which had disoriented the older frostwolf into a halt.
Korok could hear the puppies whining in the furs -- the sounds of the angry storm had startled them, coupled with their desire to roll about in their mother's fur rather than the blanket of mammoth they were left with. The old orc rested a hand on his frostwolf companion; she had done well with so little guidance. Holding the furrs against him, the shaman closed his eyes, feeling the wind currents whipping through his braids, chilling his bone.
There, through the astral plane, he was met with the elements of Ice and Air in a dispute. Air demanded dominion over Ice at these high elevations, yet Ice believed she layed claim to the high mountains of Alterac as a whole and did not want to be disrupted. To interrupt them may have made the storm worse.
Strengthening his presence in the astral plane, Korok took the form of an ethereal frostwolf. To an outside eye, he appeared as a canine comprised completely of water. Shoulderblades and hips were marked with the marks of the primary elements: Earth, Fire, Water, and Air. Across his back, the symbol of the horde was displayed proudly, accented with bone bands around his ankles that jingled when he walked. When his ears flicked, the golden hoops that pierced them flopped comically. A bark would catch the attention of the angry spirits.
They spoke in Kalimag to him -- the language of the elements. Ice chastized him for his intrusion and demanded he make his piece quickly while Air merely watched. Calmly, he spoke to Air, asking that she rescind enough to let his family pass. He acknowledged Ice in kind, asking that she too still her quarrel long enough for safe passage. Before Ice could protest, Air had agreed to lessen her winds long enough for them to move ahead. Ice had little sympathy for Korok, but agreed to rest so long as Air would. Quietly, he bowed low and thanked them.
The orc's eyes opened, noting the absence of harsh wind pushing his braids. The piles of snow that had formed on his shoulders was easily shaken away and did not rebuild itself instantly. Coldsnap had already begun to move ahead.
Adjusting his arms, Korok held the pups closer to his chest to keep them warm and smiled softly at the sound of snoring.
He could appreciate the silence...and perhaps the little things that broke it, too.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Birds were always delightful to watch in the summer. Quel'thalas often lit up with sound and color in the morning as the songbirds greeted a new day. One always had to be awake very early to catch them trading trees. You could never get close enough to the treetops to really see them. That was why the art of levitating was one of the first things Kyrael had sought to teach himself (second to healing whenever he failed and fell too hard on the ground).
The young Quel'dorei pushed the bridge of his glasses closer to his face. He had never imagined he would be able to fly, and yet there he was -- high above Silvermoon City in the dead of night, staring down at the city that never slept. It was different than what it used to be; his home was long gone, as well as the remnants of his family. They didn't call themselves Quel'dorei anymore, either.
Then again, Kyrael hadn't expected much of what had happened to him. He was thankful for his proficiency of the art of levitating himself and other objects, else he would never have been able to read again. After all...how could a ghost hold a book, let alone turn its pages?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Vynlorel hated fishing.
Even in the beautiful mountain region of Grizzly Hills, Vynlorel couldn't stand sharing his company. The bears and such were fine, but the area had become fairly overrun with traffic in recent times. Even the large sunsaber sleeping beside him hadn't scared them off.
The farstrider rolled a lit-cigar between his lips, a concentrated frown set in his features. Now that he thought about it, he was rather sick of Northrend as a whole. The damned Scourge never ended up here, and it caused his blood to boil every time he saw one. They had leveled his home, slaughtered his family and, perhaps worst of all, turned his sister against all mortalkind.
He perked at attention when he saw a trout chasing his lure. Staying perfectly still, he waited, ignoring Shantiel's movement beside him. Just before the fish had taken his lure, the cat beside him leapt up and roared, meeting the claws of a panther not native to the area. The Sin'dorei perked, startled and knoc=cked his bow as the beast fled. In the distance, he saw another shadow dance away.
"Looks like we're out of dinner again, Shanti," the elf grumbled, putting the cigar out against his boot. As he turned to leave, he noticed the cat carrying the salmon away between her teeth. So much for fishing.