User:Maskeratt

((Please do not leave comments about my terrible editing, spelling, or grammar...etc. I managed to get through school and even some college, I use the english language daily and can communicate with other english speaking people rather fluently. In fact, it's my native tongue. So please don't leave me comments about how terrible I am with my english skills, I realize I'm not perfect, but I am not an idiot. Thank you. ^.^ Lol.))

((This is the backstory of my Orc Hunter on the Moon Guard server, based very accuratly on the WoW lore. It was a challenge, but very fun. The story is written from the POV of Maskeratt, in the first person, who is just about to become recognized as an adult at a tribal ceremony. She reflects on how she got here, and how she owes it all to Thrall, the Orc Warcheif.))

How Thrall Changed My Life By: Maskeratt

I was a blister in the sun the day I stood in The Valley Of The Trials, during the ceremony that would bring me of age. The clan elders stood around the Tribal Fire, discussing amongst themselves the days proceedings. My mother stood, a distance away with the other clan members that had gathered here today to watch these former orcish childern become recognized as adults and carry the honor of the Warchief. Even from this distance, I could see my mother was visably upset. Unlike other orcs who cheered and roared with pride watching their young finally earn their own place in society, my mother possessed no such firey spirit. She is one of The Broken. Orcs who spent so much time in the horrid human internment camps, before Thrall liberated us all, that their spirits were irrevocably broken. Even now, years later, her deep wounds havn't healed. A terrible thing, the humans did to the orcish people. Denied the final act of mercy, a death at the hands of a strange people, the last orcs were rounded up instead and incarcerated in 'interment camps' scattered across the sparsely populated lands. My mother had been rounded up and brought to the internment camp I was born in when she was heavily pregnant with me. My father was killed by the humans long before I was born. It didn't take long for my mother to become 'Broken', her fire, her anger and fury, her passions and spiritual connection to the world all faded from her. It seemed like she couldn't care lesss. Listlessly she shuffled around the pen with the other captives, invalids, women, even children. Several children, including myself, lived sickly lives until that sacred day when Thrall and his band of free orcs came. The food the humans provided us for nourishment failed to supply the rich diet of iron and protein growing orcs need. Someday, when I birth my own brats, that's what they will get. Bloodied meat. Anyway...the slop I was reared on was based on some grain/cereal product grown in the human province of Westfall. The long term effects of my chronic malnutrition resulted in my skin slowly turning from a glowing healthy green, to a sickly dull yellow color that looked like I was produce that had begun to go bad. I wasn't the only child this happened to, either. Several of the children I lived at the camp with had the same horrific stamp of human brutaility on their lives. It isn't a common thing, but when you see a yellow orc, salute them with respect. You don't know how hard it has probably been for them to be an outcast amongst monsters. The day gave no indication it would be historic when it began. We stood, croweded in a pen shoulder to shoulder with someone else we didn't ever make eye-contact with. Sometimes, we would sit. Sometimes someone would relieve themselves. Then, a comotion arose from the eastern side of the camp. A guard shouted something in the human tongue, and another guard ran to his aid. Soon, every guard in the entire camp had abandond their posts and scurried over to where an increasingly panicked guard fought what eventually revealed themselves to be free orcs!! A band of free orcs had surrounded the camp, pulled the guards from the east wing, and forced the rest of them to abandon their posts while the orcs-in-waiting rushed the camp and let loose all the caged orcs within, including me and my mother!! Humans fell left and right, blood pooling and some gurgled a sick sound when they fell that enchanted me. I didn't even know humans bled, I'd never seen one attacked. Eventually some humans surrendered the hopeless fight and threw down their weapons. Thrall granted them mercy, allowed them to collect their families and belongings and leave. That was my first lesson in mercy, a word I added to my limited vocabulary that day. Thrall led us out of the now abandoned camp, and into the foothills of the Alterac Mountains to a small settlement of free orcs. We were welcomed as family by other recently liberated orcs from different internment camps, including the one that Thrall himself escaped from, Durnholde. I was happy to be an orc, happy to be alive, and adjusted easily to my new way of life. It wasn't easy for my mother to raise me as a single parent, and one of The Broken. My will to live sure wasn't any worse for wear, and I relished every chance I got to learn something knew. I itched to set out and explore the lands of this strange world Azeroth, that I was learning about with the elders. My mother made sure I never missed a daily lesson with the elders, because they had much to teach me. She didn't however encourage my interest in the skills of archery, or my hours spent with the local weapons master. I became fascinated with animals, as I had only seen chickens and cows before in the camp and thought that I would very much like to have a pet someday. As the day of my ceremony grew closer tensions rose between my mother and I. I think we both knew that I was going to be leaving, and that nothing she could say would stop me. Not that she would protest to much, my mother couldn't muster the will for that sort of thing. I was burdened with the guilt of knowing, however, that by leaving I was essentially killing my mother. As one of The Broken she didn't take care of herself, and she didn't talk to anyone else in the village. She didn't even come out of her own hut! I had kept her alive all these years, an awkward role for a little yellow child to play, and when I left who would take my place by her side? I sighed...like a shadow, that guilt would follow me across Azeroth. And so it was that I stood here this day under that damned hot Durotar sun, a continent away from that terrible place I was born, graduating into an adult, into a hunter. I waited patiently for the Elders to finish with the fledgling in front of me before they called me forward to the fire. I stepped forward, and all eyes were on me, even my mother was paying rapt attention. "Maskeratt, do you swear your alligience to Thrall, the Warcheif and leader of the Horde? Do you vow to follow His word, and to carry His honor forth in battle? Do you vow to show mercy to those that deserve it, and a swift death to those who do not? Do you swear by the ways of the axe and bow alike?" "I do" And then a second Elder stepped forth and addressed me. "And do you, Maskeratt, vow to follow the Path Of The Hunter, as you have chosen? To chose your beastial companion and provide them shelter and food and keep them content, to take on the aspects of the wildlife of this world so that you may be more cunning, efficient, or elusive in battle? Do you vow to be quick, strong, and hardy, and use your wisdom wisely?" "I do." Yet a third Elder stepped forward to address me this one last time. " Then let it be known that Maskeratt is of marriagable age and has chosen the Path of The Hunter." Cheers and roars eruppted from the gathered orcs who shown with pride for me. I looked out into the crowd desperatly searching for my mothers approving eyes, but did not find them. Finally, I spotted her, walking away. Her shadow finally disipeared behind a rock formation. I didn't seem to hear as another Elder ushered me off the makeshift-stage and explained my first quest to me; kill mottled boar. I set out right away, and found the beasts to be embarresingly easy to kill, and took no honor in ending their lives. I seasoned quickly, and tamed a Durotar Tiger from the Echo Isles as my first pet. I named him Shakakahn. I frequently think about my mother, although I've heard no news of her death. I assuming she is simply living out the rest of her exsistance until the spirits call her to the afterlife in her simple hut in Durotar. I wonder if I will ever see her again...the guilt returns, and washes over me. I stand and shake the red earth off my leather armor, trotting off into the heat of the Durotar evening with Shakakahn. She'll be alright...I don't fight for my mother anymore. I fight for honor...for experience, for knowledge, for Thrall....I fight, FOR THE HORDE!