Post by ironvedric on Mar 4, 2012 10:17:57 GMT -5
Lvl 31 Warlock
Searching through my pack I found the battered, wine soaked journal. It had been only briefly used and what had been written on it had long since succumbed to the ravages of wear, damp, time, and abuse.
To start the story again is easy enough. Though not being much of a story teller and Really bad at keeping records it might be a while before I continue it.
I am Vedric, Ironvedric was my Uncle. I was named after him and strangely we share the same physical allergy to other peoples magics, (we cant even wear magic'ed clothing without suffering from it). There are others in Azeroth that share this affliction, sometimes it goes away with age or if a Spirit healer manages to break through it and resurrect the person it seems to cure it sometimes. It was found that in beings with our allergy our own magics are strong and wholly tolerable to us.
Stranger still is the number of similarities my Uncle and I share, our appearance, the fact that we both contracted the Worgen 'disease', and were able to be rescued from its feral grip, ... and that my mother always tried to turn the conversations in my home Away from any of our similarities.
Another of the similarities we share is that I followed in my Uncles footsteps learning the ways of the Warlocks. I became commissioned, attached to the Alliance's efforts in Azreroth. That is loosely where the story of my life begins.
I was training in what was left of Gillneas when news of Uncle IronVedric's death reached us. It was devastating that such a part of my life had been snuffed out, ended, and suck a long ways away too. I won't go into all of it but it effected me deeply and I started fighting hard to help the Darnassians that had given us a place to live.
(the plague has made fair Gillneas uninhabitable for generations to come. We'll get that undead monster Ranger and tear out her twisted heart for doing that to our kingdom!)
After helping clear the remaining darkness from the Teridassil Tree I was sent to Darkshore where I continued to learn the ways of Warlocks, fought to take back the land and creatures from the Demon rott that seems to pervade everything these days. I was eventually moved to Ashenveile where I met the first Draeniea (may have spelled that wrong, but that is how it sounds), A race of peoples who came from Outlands. Outlands is where Uncle IronVedric died. I'll go there one day and, perhaps, bring his bones and his spirit home.
I've worked in our sister kingdom's city Stormwind. Been to Duskwood, a dark and foreboding place. I am currently stationed, if you can call it 'stationing', in the jungles of Stranglethorn Veil where I met up with a wonderful band of hunters led by a really colorful chap name Nessingwary Jr.
I do like to hunt these days, probably the Worgen part of me talking there.
I'll write more later on. Maybe, if I can find This journal before its a pile of shredded pages.
Vedric
Searching through my pack I found the battered, wine soaked journal. It had been only briefly used and what had been written on it had long since succumbed to the ravages of wear, damp, time, and abuse.
To start the story again is easy enough. Though not being much of a story teller and Really bad at keeping records it might be a while before I continue it.
I am Vedric, Ironvedric was my Uncle. I was named after him and strangely we share the same physical allergy to other peoples magics, (we cant even wear magic'ed clothing without suffering from it). There are others in Azeroth that share this affliction, sometimes it goes away with age or if a Spirit healer manages to break through it and resurrect the person it seems to cure it sometimes. It was found that in beings with our allergy our own magics are strong and wholly tolerable to us.
Stranger still is the number of similarities my Uncle and I share, our appearance, the fact that we both contracted the Worgen 'disease', and were able to be rescued from its feral grip, ... and that my mother always tried to turn the conversations in my home Away from any of our similarities.
Another of the similarities we share is that I followed in my Uncles footsteps learning the ways of the Warlocks. I became commissioned, attached to the Alliance's efforts in Azreroth. That is loosely where the story of my life begins.
I was training in what was left of Gillneas when news of Uncle IronVedric's death reached us. It was devastating that such a part of my life had been snuffed out, ended, and suck a long ways away too. I won't go into all of it but it effected me deeply and I started fighting hard to help the Darnassians that had given us a place to live.
(the plague has made fair Gillneas uninhabitable for generations to come. We'll get that undead monster Ranger and tear out her twisted heart for doing that to our kingdom!)
After helping clear the remaining darkness from the Teridassil Tree I was sent to Darkshore where I continued to learn the ways of Warlocks, fought to take back the land and creatures from the Demon rott that seems to pervade everything these days. I was eventually moved to Ashenveile where I met the first Draeniea (may have spelled that wrong, but that is how it sounds), A race of peoples who came from Outlands. Outlands is where Uncle IronVedric died. I'll go there one day and, perhaps, bring his bones and his spirit home.
I've worked in our sister kingdom's city Stormwind. Been to Duskwood, a dark and foreboding place. I am currently stationed, if you can call it 'stationing', in the jungles of Stranglethorn Veil where I met up with a wonderful band of hunters led by a really colorful chap name Nessingwary Jr.
I do like to hunt these days, probably the Worgen part of me talking there.
I'll write more later on. Maybe, if I can find This journal before its a pile of shredded pages.
Vedric