This is a book about a hunter in World of Warcraft. Yes I know there are better things to write about, but please read it first then tell me what you think.
Chapter 1:
Beginnings
I wasn’t borne in the city; I drew my first breath in what is now the scorched groove, but what was then the most beautiful part of Eversong. Soon after my birth my parents were eaten by a starving lynx that was in the area, it would have eaten me if old Whitebark hadn’t been passing. He slew the lynx, but was too late to save my parents.
I spent the first few months of my life among the trees, learning from them caring for them. They taught me many things like how to speak to the wild; soon the tenders who cared for the forest began to call me Foreststrider and taught me how to read and write High Elven. In that respect I was perhaps as knowledgeable as the highest archmage in Silvermoon. But nearing my first birthday I felt the need for something more. When I conveyed this to Whitebark he said that I missed the company of my own people.
So it was that on my first birthday I was “found” by a chilled less couple who fancied a walk in the woods. As soon as I arrived in Silvermoon I was sent off to the mages academy where I was taught how to control my magic. It was all very interesting, but I was bored. All of the students there where lawful, but I was chaotic at heart. I could not cope with the number of restrictions.
One day during a particularly boring lesson on the proper use of frost magic I hit my teacher with an arcane torrent and scarperd. I ran out just in time to see an army of undead decimating my birthplace. Despite my two years of age –and my teacher’s remarks-, I was not stupid. I rushed to a sheltered place far from the capital, even though I couldn’t see anything, I could still hear the screams that haunt me to this day. Women and children, pleading for mercy while Arthas slaughtered them.
I went back to Silvermoon a long time after the triumphant roars of the undead had faded into the distance. Most of the building where already razed to the ground, those that still stood upright were surrounded by pallid creatures with wispy hair and evil black eyes. In other words what I saw there the first of the Wretched; more would join them after the others felt the full tragedy of what had happened. The greatest blow to the now Blood Elves: the destruction of the Sunwell.
Unlike the rest of my race I was not as affected. I had learned at a very young age how to absorb mana from magic users.
I didn’t do much during our exile in outland, but unlike the rest of the Blood Elves I did not await Kael’thas’s return wit the eager anticipation. He was no fool, but he was Blood Drunk and power hungry – a dangerous combination. Even so the fact that the humans do no tolerate us makes my blood boil. They have no sense of honour, fraternising with an “enemy” who offered us help bah. I’m glad that scumbag got what he deserved.
Anyway once we got back to what had once been our homeland we found it overrun with undead and trolls trying to reclaim there lands, not to mention the manawyrm infestation. Those of us who could fight where each given a task that suited our level; thus the less experienced took on the lesser challenges while the more experienced cleared out the undead and rebuilt Silvermoon as best they could without the Sunwell. My talents as a hunter were quickly picked up on and I was soon given a bow and a dagger and told to “help in anyway I could”. I quickly rose through the ranks and I was given the opportunity to learn how to tame a beast. It was easy I had found an abandoned Dragonhawk and took him under my wing. He was wary at first, but once I got him to accept food from me trust was more easily established, soon we where inseparable.
My reputation with Silvermoon had grown too, and soon it was decided that I should go prove my worth elsewhere.
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