Alone, he slaughtered his way through Un`Goro crater.
Surrounded by the beauty of the place, the tall towering trees, the huge green softly blowing ferns, the bright busrst of color in the crystal outcroppings around him, the very mists that rise from the ground around him creating almost a surreal look to the place... he notices none of it.
Again he turns, quickly this time, to his left. The slow dragging sound has alerted him to the approach of something heavy and slow. "Another of those damnable plants" he thinks to himself, and loosing the bolt of elemental frost from his hands as he was so meticulously tought, he slows the thing before it has a chance to reach him.
Having just finished dispatching his second gorilla, he's drianed and slowed from his exertions. If he could still sweat, he would no doubt be covered in it. Even his grip on the Arcane is slipping some, as he feels the pool of energy, his mana, begin to dwindle.
"This better be quick" he thinks to himself... as his brow knits tight again the protruding bone of his skull. Sinews of his face draw taught as he concentrates and sends bolt after bolt of arcane energy blasting into the slavoring plant as it continues it relentless advance.
The plants, although seemingly minor and uncaring, can be more dangerous than the jungle animals when they are angered. Thoreac knows this... and as he triggers a small nova of elemental ice around himself, freezing the thing in place, he considers his remaining resources. Moving a safe distance away, he begins again, volley after volley of arcane energy crashing into the thing, blasting pieces of it to the forrest floor with each strike.
"Thank the Dark Lady... I'll be fine and clear to rest after this" he thinks to himself as the plant begins to wither, obviously nearing death.
From behind him he hears a sound that sends a dark chill through his rotted frame. A small, quiet sound that signals his impending destruction. After all this, after getting this far, he knows: There will be no escape from this one. There will be no last minute resurgence of mana, no retreat that can be quick enough, and not nearly enough mana to create a shield that will be strong enough.
The sound that brings these thoughts of dread is a sigh. A quiet, distinctly alive, and undeniably human sigh.
As he predicted, the plant dies with his mana reserves almost depleted. What remains of the essence that holds his decaying form together almost gone... He takes long, heaving, ragged breaths ( a habit he's never dropped, from his living days ) that rattle through the ripped and torn holes in his torso... and he turns to face the Living.
The last thought to pass through his conciuosness before it is ripped from his and thrown to the winds is: "Not again..."
Sometime later the remnants of his spirit appear in a graveyeard not far from his broken body, the curse of the Forsaken holds true again: Forevermore, tho shalt not perish apon this earth. He begins the long, slow, unavaoidable trip back...
Posted by Thoreac at 12:47 PM 18 May 2005