Tiger stood from his kneeling position, inhaling deeply. He was tired, and breathless, but his action didn't help much. The air in Un Goro was stagnating. Getting what little breath he could, he turned to his side and dug around in his pack for a canteen. He hastily unscrewed it, wiping tar all over it and took several greedy gulps. The entire time, the same voice rang in his head, Back to work, Tiger. Back to work.
Not long ago, Tiger had decided to take a commission, although a peculiar one, the pay was good. The requested was "fresh" tar from the swamps of Un Goro. One-Eye, the mischievous ******* of a wizard that he is had decided to cast a spell on Tiger. Whenever he wasn't collecting tar, that tired old voice would ring his head, telling him to do just so. He once again submerged himself in the black depths, an herbal concoction allowing him breath even in the deepest of oceans, or in this case, tar pits. After what seemed to be an hour, and at least thirty pounds of tar later, he started cleaning himself off, and getting ready for the long trek back.
"Tiger, of The Black Company?" a voice called from behind him. He quickly spun and unsheathed his blade. Not enough time to pull out his shield. He had then noticed the Death's Head insignia woven into the messenger's tabard. A skull, missing it's jaw. His tabard was missing the usual rubies that were portrayed as eyes in the skull. this implied that the man was only a recruit, but he was a Brother of the Black Company nonetheless, and he must of came to this hell with reason.
Tiger sheathed his sword, and replied, "Yes, what do you need of me?" Back to work. Back to work, Tiger. Damn that One-Eye. The recruit spoke again, "We got new orders. Shipping out of this world, more money to be made in another. Meet at the gates to the Glittering Plain in three days." Without a second thought, Tiger dropped the sac of ooze, muttering a curse on his once was employer. He got back to gathering his bearings, turning his back to the messenger. "Oh, and one more thing," the recruit said, "Your final orders in this world are to kill and pillage everyone you come across. Just don't die doin' it." Tiger's eyes lit up. He knew the next three days would be the most exciting yet in this world.
The messenger rode off, most likely to visit another brother on a commission in the middle of nowhere. Tiger finished packing up, and started to head out of this damned crater, back to his guild's headquarter, located in Stormwind. Before even five minutes of walking, he ran into a man, clad in heavy armor picking through the corpse of what once was a Raptor. Tiger decided to start his final orders in this world with him. Unsheathing his shield and sword, he charged towards the warrior. The surprised man stumbled and fell to the oozing mud, reaching around haggardly for his sword. Tiger raised his own, and made a quick decisive strike at the neck. Just as his own sword came down, the sword of the warrior's came up in defiance, slashing at Tiger's breast. And it connected, slicing through his leather jerkin like butter, creating a new bloody gash in his chest. Furious, Tiger stabbed the man in throat and raised his shield, only to bring it back down smashing the man's face with it into a gorey pulp. Back to work. He decided he would be mad at One-Eye later.
The wound was long and deep. Tiger knew he was in no condition to fight anymore, for at least a week. He drank a potion, aiding the clotting of the wound. It burned his throat, and the wound of his just bubbled and seared red hot. Tiger grit his teeth from the pain, but as soon as the sensation came, it had gone. After looting the corpse of all it's gold, trinkets, herbs and potions, he began his trek to the nearest town in Tanaris so that he may rest and then rent a hippogryph. No complications arose from the trek, and he made it back to Stormwind within only a day.
After much drinking, sleeping, and chasing One-Eye around with terrible intents, it had been time to cross The Glittering Plain, in search of a better world. The Company had bid farewell to those brothers who could not cut ties with this world of Azeroth. After an hour of various incantations, runes and general sorcery, the wizards of the company had conjured a portal to the plain. We stepped through, about forty men strong and began the long arduous journey through the plain.
The plain was an artificial world, that connected sixteen others. It was a long flat land, with floor of stone, and predefined paths to traverse the Plain safely, and avoid the immortal guardians stationed to prevent warfare and general violence on the Plains. An hour of travel later, the Company found it's first waypoint, it's camp on the Plain, stationed with the brothers ho did not venture into Azeroth, and waited for better worlds. Hearing of new land, some brothers stayed in the Garrison, and others joined the troop. Several days and nights later, the Company found themselves at the gate to the newest world that had opened. The immortal stone guardian spoke slowly, "This is the world of Hyboria." The Captain signaled to keep moving, and we did just so. The Company stepped through the gate, and emerged in a flash of light and magic.
It was hot. Desert could be seen all around, aside from the standing gate through which they emerged. We set up camp right outside the gate, and sent teams of two in three directions. One came back earlier than the others, almost a day ahead of the rest, and brought word of a village. They reported, this was the land of Stygia, a land of deserts, twisted creatures, and foul magic. Tiger sighed, and almost missed the days of gathering tar, at least there he didn't have to worry about dying from heat.
The company once again gathered their bearings, and set out for the village. The march, which only should have taken several hours, took us a day instead. The sand, the mantis, the hyenas, and the sweltering heat. We took lodgings in the village, they accepted us out of fear. When a group of forty men brandishing armor, spears, swords and magic wanders into your little village, you usually comply. We had rested there a while, learning about this new world, its customs, its traditions, its dangers.
As we had learned about the evil wizard, Thoth'Amon, and his hellish rule over the lands of Stygia, we had also learned of the armies of Acheron. Husks of human beings, given souls of demons to carry out the biddings of the evil wizard. No sooner that we had learned about that, our scout, Kingsmen had come back in a mad dash. "Men, lots of them. At least two hundred. They're coming this way, and they don't look like they're taking prisoners." The barkeep muttered under his breath, "Thoth'Amon..." The Captain of our band turned to him, and asled him in the most threatening tone he could muster up, "What?" The barkeep repeated, "Thoth'Amon, Thoth'Amon!" He ran out of his tavern and into the streets, shouting those words to the villagers so that they may flee. The Company would stay, and we would fight.
We chose the largest of the buildings, and started building a garrison. The soldiers were about an hour from here, and that gave us precious time. We stationed our archers on the highest floor, our mages there with them. The soldiers would fight outside, allowing our men on top to pick off what they could. They were now visible on the horizon, marching strong towards ourselves. Our three strongest mages already started to muster up an incantation, and ghoulish apparitions appeared from a portal between them. The horrors made way towards the band of Thoth'Amon. Some were seen fleeing in their midst. Most of the men continued to march strong. A curse came from one of the mages. As they neared, only forty feet from the soldiers, a volley of fire and arrows came from above. It rained into their ranks, killing several, wounding more. Men ran screaming, engulfed in ungodly flames from the march, others, stumbled around with an arrow in their throats, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
They approached us, another volley scattered them even further. We charged. A flurry of shields butting against one another, of swords and spears happened. Metal sparked against metal. Tiger parried a blow, blocked another with his shield. He slashed through the neck of the assailant, and turned to see an enemy about to swing his axe down at him. Tiger raised his shield above his head, blocking the first blow, barely. He shook from the force. As another was about to end him, an arrow flew and stuck itself through the soldier's skull. He fell with a thud. More of this went on, blood flew and cries rang out, cries of rage and bloodlust, cries of death. Tiger had to have killed at least ten men, throwing down his shield and helmet for the agility that he would gain. He fought long and hard, his feral instincts taking over. Finally, he could fight no more. A sword came from the tornado of flesh and steel, and pierced him in the neck. He grabbed for it, and felt warm as blackness surrounded him.
He awoke, on something hard, and rocking. It was a ship. He was dull, his senses not feeling, his mind not thinking. He heard conversation from somewhere on this thing. "So, the raid failed?" "Not completely, we had to retreat but took at least ten strong men from the fight. These are good men, and worth the lives of at least twenty each." Tiger looked down, and spied a mark on his chest. He would later learn that this was the mark of Acheron, branding him as an immortal soldier of the armies. His memories were now fragments, he could only remember his death, and beyond that. Nothing more. Sitting on this ship, waiting for what was to be his fate, this is where his journey began, in the world of Hyboria.
Edited, Apr 21st 2009 11:43am by Rurode