Doran Owen

[PissingPanther]

“Doran Owen, I suppose you have never heard that name before. Many do not want to learn it. Many do not think his life of being of much importance. Well then where do I begin? Ah, yes Doran lived on a quiet farm in northern Azeroth with his father, Aaron, his mother, Maria, and his two younger brothers, Abendroth and Killian. They lived a simple but, at times hard, life. Other than the occasional bandit and gnoll raids life was okay…that is until the orcs came.




“Get outta the way!” a knight called as he nearly trampled Doran.
Doran quickly ran to the side of the road next to his mother. He always loved seeing the soldiers march. In their plate and chain mail armor, they looked like they could never be defeated.
”Doran don’t just stand there goggling, there’s work to be done!” his mother said briskly.
Although Doran wanted to watch the soldier’s march he knew he had to obey. Doran went about doing his usual chores and when he finished he ran quickly up to the nearest hill and sat down. Even after all the work he had done the soldiers were still coming. The long column looked like it stretched for miles. It almost looked as if it was a river of steel rushing between the mountain pass.
Doran wanted nothing more than to join the army, join his father who had been called upon to serve. These kinds of marches happened daily. It confused Doran really, why would they need so many troops on the front line. He heard stories about the orcs, ferocity, tenacity, and bloodlust. But he still had a difficult time believing how supposedly strong their horde really was.
Suddenly a horn blew in the distance. Doran looked back in the distance and saw many of the footman and knights slashing at larger green bodies. He just stood there, watching, until the green skins broke through the column formation of the foot soldiers.
“Doran! Get in the house! Hurry!” his mother yelled.
Doran ran to the house, the whole time watching the battle.
“Hurry get in, get in!” his mother yelled.
He ran inside and closed the door behind him, bolted it and ran for his bow. He grabbed his bow and some arrows and ran to the nearest window. He saw the fight coming closer. There were no longer any knights left, only footmen, some fighting, some dieing, and many running. Doran looked for his mother who now had an axe in her hand used for cutting wood.
”We should run momma!” Doran yelled, fear overwhelming him.
As he just finished say that their door was knocked down and in the doorway stood a green skin. It had red piercing eyes, a strong muscular body and yellow tusks protruding from its bottom jaw.
Without a warning it charged and Doran ran through the back door, his mothers screams following him. He did not think, he just ran to the hills, for his life.
Night came and Doran fell to the ground exhausted. He started to weep for leaving behind his brothers and his mother. He left them to die when he should have died with them, as one of them.

[BraveLiver]

Space between paragrahps needed.

Otherwise, good intro and very few errors. (I only found one!)

[Flak]

Indeed. Spaces are needed, given the format of these forums. Other than that...well, it seems kinda rushed. Like you're trying to fit too much in too little. Expand a bit, write more on less. :y-thumbsu

[PissingPanther]

Thx for the advice this is my first story so constructive criticism is always good.


Four years had passed since the death of Doran Owens family. And since then the orcs had been defeated and set in internment camps. Doran had joined the army to get his revenge on the orcs and to live. If he hadn’t of joined he would have no food, water, or any shelter of some sort. He needed to be in the army just to survive.

Doran had grown into a strong young man. He had black hair just above his shoulders, brown eyes, and standing at about 6’1.

The orcs had now broken out of their camps and most of them sailed west to kalimdor. He did not know why and he also did not care. If they want to leave, then let them.

“Doran, Aindreas, Bran, distribute that grain to the villagers.” Sergeant Driscoll yelled.
Doran had been stationed at the town Hearthglen, and he hated it. A regular day consisted of Going on patrols stopping fights at inns, and unloading or loading supplies. At times they would get a report of the undead on the move but nothing worth losing sleep over.

“Come on lets get it over with.” Doran said.
“Aye, lets get it done boys.” replied Bran.

Bran was a natural leader. He never saw action but Doran knew that once on the battlefield he would not break. Once they got to the wagon holding the grain flies were swarming it.
“Oi that grain must be spoiled.” stated Aindreas.
Doran looked on top of a box.

“It’s from Andorhal. What could possibly be wrong with it?” Doran asked
“I hear there’s strange folk wandering ‘round Andorhal. But no matter let’s just do the job.” Bran said.
They unloaded the grain and distributed it amongst the villagers. Doran could soon smell bread baking and could see brewers brewing the alcohol. Doran then noticed how thirsty he was and decided to go for a quick drink and get some food. Maybe later he could….
“Everyone arm your selves! The undead are advancing here! Get to your positions!” yelled the sarge.

Doran was dumbstruck. Why would the dead come here? Thought Doran. In the lights name its bloody Hearthglen! The most boring town in all Lordaeron. He no longer had a chance to think as Aindreas started to pull him to the barracks. Aindreas pulled Doran through the door and into their living quarters. Bran had by now already taken up his sword, shield and helmet and was running to his post. Aindreas let go of Doran to go to his own bed and get his weapons.

Doran, now thinking on his own grabbed his sword and shield. He already had his helmet on, and looked to see where Aindreas was. His friend was already out the door with his battle axe. He sprinted out of the barracks to find utter chaos. Footmen were running to the gates, dwarves loading their rifles, officers shouting orders and amongst it all he saw Prince Arthas.

Arthas was giving orders and making way to the nearest gate. Doran then decided that he should probably be at his post now. Once he arrived he saw Bran and Aindreas and many others forming up with sergeant Driscoll.

“Over here Doran, let’s go!” sarge yelled.
“Where we going?” Doran asked Bran
“To the small village just north of here. An undead caravan is killing all people in the outlying villages and turning them to undead.” replied Bran.
With that said the company began to run to the northern village.
Once they arrived at the village people were just doing their everyday work. But once the soldiers arrived they looked confused and worried.

“Line up over there in the entrance make a long column and make sure there are no gaps!” bellowed Driscoll. ”Faolan get the towns people organized at get them back to Hearthglen.”

“Aye sir. Alright everyone stay with me and get moving.” yelled Faolen
Many of the town’s people protested but ended up going with him, very reluctantly.
“Bane and Rupert scout ahead and see if you can find that caravan.”
“Yes sir.”

The two ahead to look for the caravan and the rest of the company waited. With only fifty men the footmen knew that they were going to be outnumbered. Their only objective was to buy time for the town’s people to get to Hearthglen and then high tail it back there. Not much time was needed but the dead would be there soon and once they attack they do not stop.

“If the dead break through this line we must retreat and regroup by the fountain.” stated Driscoll. “And then we fight until Faolen returns.”
Doran did not want to think of what would happen if Faolen did not return. When he turned he saw a figure approaching. It was Bane, he had and arrow in his side and one in his back.

“Sir they got Rupert.” Bane said while gasping for air and fell to the ground. Dead. Then the dead came. The ones in front were rotting corpses with razor sharp claws and some had bows to. Also there where four big ones that looked like they were made form a bunch of stitched together body parts. And in the back were some men and four wagons.
Just then one of the wagons launched something into the air, coming right towards us. I saw Bran put up his shield and the projectile hit it with a hard THUMP. It was the upper half of Rupert, his entrails lying on the ground in a small pile and blood soaked everywhere. Barn and others around him had blood on their armor. Then as we all looked at the undead line once more they charged. All yelling indistinct words and battle cries. It was a horrible thing to see and to smell. The smell was unbearable, it made Doran want to vomit with every breath he took.

“Lock your shields, stay as one, do not let them through!” ordered Driscoll
Doran put up his shield and waited for the coming onslaught. Only a few more yards to go and he would soon be fighting for his life. Six meters until they hit…4…3…1. They first creature hit his shield with a loud clang and fell to the earth. The next he swung his sword at and slashed it across the chest. Not hard enough for it still charged at him. He then brought his sword down on its head and cut through its skull half way down. He pulled his sword loose and took a hit to the head. He fell back and saw a rotting corpse in front of him raising its arm for the final blow.

As if coming out of mid air Aindreas hit the undead on the collar bone and it fell with a loud scream. Another of the rotting basterds was soon rite over him. Doran rammed his shield in between its legs not knowing if it had anything there still, but it slumped and he rammed his sword through its chest. Doran then got up; his sword still stuck in the writhing things chest, pulled it out and kicked it down. A body hit Doran knocking him down yet again. He turned to see one of those huge monstrosities that smelled just as bad as it looked. It raised its foot and brought it down on Doran…

[PissingPanther]

Doran thinking quickly, put up his sword and stopped the monsters foot from crushing him. The thing yelled out in surprise and pain. Doran not exactly enjoying the smell under its foot pushed his sword deeper. The fowl thing backed up and took the sword with it. Doran now weaponless looked around for something to use. He picked up a spear from one of his fallen comrades and looked back at the monster. It had by now taken out the sword and thrown it across the battlefield and Doran also noticed that is was none to happy. It raised its cleaver once again, and Doran not wanting to give it a chance ran up and plunged the spear into the creature’s belly. It yelled a high pitched scream and dropped the cleaver on an unsuspecting undead warrior. Doran grunted and forced the spear deeper.

Bran ran over and shoved his sword into the things leg. It used it hand and smacked him away. Bran went flying, hit a tree and fell to the ground no longer moving. The monster swatted at the spear and broke it in two. Doran then kept moving forward caused by his momentum and found Bran’s sword still stuck in the things leg. He pulled it lose and cut his opponent right behind the knee. The fowl creature fell and Doran took the chance to run to the front of it and run his sword through its head. After the beast fell Doran noticed his troop falling back to the fountain.

“Doran let’s get to the fountain! Come on!” yelled Aindreas
Doran now noticed that he was very tired and hurt. But he reasoned out that its better to be alive and not dead, so he ran. When they got to the fountain Doran noticed that there where not many men left and Sergeant Driscoll was missing his thumb. Doran looked back and saw the dead regrouping also. Some of those ghoulish creatures were dragging bodies form the battlefield. More likely so they could chuck more bodies at us. He also glanced at the battlefield and saw that more undead where killed than his comrades. Which was good but the dead still had two of those hulking, smelly beasts, and plenty of those rotting corpses.

“Sir we cannot charge out there again, it’ll be suicide.” Exclaimed a foot soldier Doran did not know

“Aye sir, we should run now the towns people must have made it back by now.” Stated Murtagh

“No we cannot run. Faolan will come and when he does then we will run.” Said Driscoll

“Faolan’s probably dead by now!” yelled Fion
“Well then if he is dead then what’s the point of running back to Hearthglen? If Faolan has fallen that means there’s undead between us and Hearthglen. So if we run back and run into a war party with this strike force right behind us we’ll be more outnumbered than we are now. These warriors are tired as much as you are. So against them we have a better chance against a war party that has seen no action all day.” Driscoll pointed out.
Everyone knew he was right and said nothing.

“We will not charge back onto that battlefield. We will be stronger closer together. So we are going into that church barricading the door and fight to the death in there, come now the undead advances!” yelled sarge.

With that Doran looked back seeing the undead running towards them with great speed. They all fled to the church ran inside and blocked the only entrance with the pews from the church and anything else they could find. Now that Doran had a chance to rest for awhile he counted how many people were left. Only nineteen out of fifty left. This wasn’t looking good for Doran’s company. The dead had two of those abominations, four wagons, and at least another forty of those rotting basterds.

Just then he remembered Bran. BRAN! What happened to him? Doran thought to himself, how he could just forget him! His thoughts were interrupted as bodies flew in through the ceiling, landing on some people and some hitting the floor hard. The sounds of bones cracking and the yells from outside were unbelievably loud. Then the door started to get rammed, and started to splinter. Doran ran up to the church bell tower. He saw one of those monsters hacking at the door with its cleaver and a chain with a sickle attached to the end. The other abomination was looking for another way into the church, and many of the rotting warriors were cheering them on in a garbled tongue.
The wagons hurling dead bodies into the church from afar and he saw four of those humans standing there watching.

As he looked on a couple of the undead warriors with the bows spotted him and fired a volley of arrows at him. Doran saw this and ducked down hoping the low wall in the bell tower was enough to cover his whole body. Many of the arrows the tower and bounced off harmlessly but one lucky shot found its way between his armor and sunk into his elbow. Doran howled in pain and got up to run down the stairs. Once down to the front gate Doran reached behind his elbow and plucked the arrow from his arm. He threw it to the ground and went to his sword and turned just in time to see the dead rush in through the door.


Faolan arrived to the battle just as he saw the undead smash though a church door and rush inside. Leading the people back to Hearthglen took longer than it should of and he knew his friends were paying dearly for it. But the question now was what to do? Should he leave so he could live? Should he cut his way through to the church and try to make it inside or should he simply wait? He honestly wanted to pick the first choice but knew he what his duty was. So Faolan decided to take out those murderous humans first.

He went behind the first wagon and started to run to the first human traitor. Faolan ran him through and quickly took it out to strike the other one across the chest. One of the dark wizards turned and saw Faolen. Faolen knew of the magic’s these men possessed and threw his sword with both his hands at his enemy. It struck the man in the stomach sending him to the ground screaming. He ran to the last man grabbed his chest and pulled his face forward, smashing the necromancers head into his armored shoulder. He let his dead opponent fall his face smashed in. Faolan went to the wagons killed the warriors that operated them and pulled the levers on all four aiming them at his enemies. Killing many undead with those wagons he ran to join the battle.
When he got to the entrance of the church he saw that only fourteen of his countrymen where left standing. He quickly joined the fight. Once in the church Faolan noticed that many of the undead were slain and the only opponents left was the huge monstrosity, which soon went down after all the blows.


Doran took out his rag he used to clean his sword and quickly wiped the blood off his blade. He saw that Faolan had come back and was now talking to Driscoll. Driscoll had taken a beating. He no longer had his left thumb, and his face was scratched up pretty bad. Doran removed his helmet and wiped the blood off that to.
He looked around for Aindreas but could not find him, until he came upon a body that’s face looked as if it was punched in. Doran knew it to be Aindreas for the big battle axe that was still in the hands.
Doran did not shed a tear, he had no time to shed tears, he had to find Bran and see if he was alive. Bran was easier to find, because Doran tripped over his torso. The undead had used him as a projectile for one of their wagons.

“Alright men lets get back to Hearthglen, leave the dead we have no time for them.” Driscoll exclaimed.

As they neared the city they could hear the sounds of battle ahead and could see smoke billowing into the sky above.

“Move it! Get into the city and fight!” the sergeant ordered.
Though once they got near the entrance Uther the Lightbringer had come and was helping beat back the dead.
Doran did not even have to draw his sword, for, as soon as they came the undead fell back.

Morning came Doran had not gotten any sleep. He and his countrymen were busy burning or burying the dead. As soon as they where done the captain of their battalion, which had been reduced to below half the number of men they had before, told them they were moving on to get their equipment.
“Where we going now?” asked Goban

“To Stromguarde, now hustle up!” replied the captain.
That news made Doran happy. Stromguarde, a big city with a lot of people, and big walls all the way around it, lots or protection, and if their luck held up maybe a nice warm bed.

[BraveLiver]

Very good. Grammar problems here and there, but it's the story that counts.

[PissingPanther]

Thanks for the replies braveliver



“Doran went with Prince Arthas to Stromguarde along with the rest of his battalion. He did not think that once they got there that he could have to kill the people in the city. One thing he did know was that the grain Bran, Aindreas, and himself had unloaded was infested with the plague, which turned the people into mindless zombies. Once they arrived Arthas ordered that the city be purged. Doran saw that Uther did not obey and Arthas sent him away. Doran was young and did not know what to do. The rest of his battalion was staying so he figured that he should to. Then when they marched into the city they slaughtered everyone they could find with no mercy. Doran also followed the crazed prince into Northrend and fought there with him for the rest of the short campaign.”



“I’m freezing; I haven’t warmed up one bit since we arrived here.” Complained Faolan

“The Prince has lost his mind, first Stromguarde, now this.” replied Fion gesturing to the land around him.

“Hold your tongue less you want it cut off.” said Driscoll now who was now captain Driscoll.

Doran said nothing; he was still having a hard time getting over all the people he killed in Stromguarde. They had been in Northrend for weeks now and all they’ve been doing is fighting the prince’s personal war with the demon Mal’ganis. Hunting him and his lackey’s was growing tiresome. Also they were taking a toll for it. During day gargoyles would attack and do as much damage as possible. At night undead archers would shoot volleys of arrows towards their campfires and around them. And some time’s some of those dead spider warriors would come close and unleash insect clouds at them.

The constant attacks like that kept them up at night and they usually had little or no sleep. Doran’s eyelids felt like lead and he constantly caught himself dozing off. Arthas seemed to be losing his touch with reality. He constantly would make rash decisions when they made contact with undead patrols or war parties. If it was just one scout the prince would send ten men to go get him. Doran believed all of it was for revenge. They could have been back in Loarderon defending or retaking strategic positions there. They where not needed in Northrend. Their nation just simply wasn’t strong enough.

“What’s that?” asked Fion pointing to the sky.
The all looked to the direction Fion was pointing.

“It’s a goblin zeppelin, but what could it be doing here?” replied Faolan.
The zeppelin landed and Driscoll ran over to talk to the man who came out. They stood there and watched the man and Driscoll talk.

“What do you think their sayin?” asked Hamish a dwarven rifleman who had recently joined their battalion.
No one answered, no one had an answer. As Driscoll came walking back Doran saw a confused look on his face, but also saw a glint of joy in his eyes.

“That was an emissary form Loarderon, he said we are to leave Northrend and return home.”

“Thank god for that.” answered Hamish with a relieved look on his face.

“Yes but the undead are blocking the way to the ship’s.” replied Driscoll.

“So, the dead never stopped us before.” stated the stout little dwarf.

“Well, we could take a longer time and navigate through the forest or we could cut our way through the dead.” said Driscoll.

They all agreed to go through the forest and gathered all the men and dwarves they could on the way. By the time they made it to the first ship many hours had passed. Also the only part of the ship that was above water was the mast. In front of the ship stood Arthas, Muradin, Ice trolls, and some Ogres.

“These beasts destroyed your ships and robbed you of your way home.” said Arthas.

“What a rip off.” replied Hamish.

“Kill the beasts!” ordered Driscoll.

The ogres and trolls went down quick under the overwhelming numbers of the alliance troops. Doran’s heart sank and he fell to his knees. One chance to get home and get out of the freezing weather and it was taken away from them. Now he was going to die in a place he didn’t know about, or care about. He didn’t even know what it looked like on a map. Worst of all was that he was going to die for no good. He would die a more likely horrible slow painful death and no one back home would call them heroes. What were they fighting for here? This “campaign” they were on was more for some assassins than for an army. After all everyone knew Arthas just wanted to kill the dreadlord. Arthas was speaking now but Doran was not paying attention. He was sick of fighting for nothing. He wanted to go home and fight for his land, his people. He didn’t want to stay in Northrend and freeze to death.

Arthas had stopped talking now and the company was moving back to camp. Doran did not want to go back. The prince was mad. He had to leave, get out of Northrend, but he could not do it on his own. Doran looked around for someone who might follow him. Not Hamish, he would never desert his comrades, Faolan wouldn’t either. Doran kept looking until he saw Fion. Fion would do it, he was sick of Northrend just as much as Doran was, and so was Dugald. Dugald actually tried to mutiny once but did not gather enough men. Also Driscoll learned of it and he helped Dugald change his mind. But they did not need many men. They needed only a few, and Doran was sure those two would follow him.

Back at camp Doran confronted both Dugald and Fion at the same time about his idea. They agreed with no argument. They knew that they were all going to die if they stayed there.

“Now do any of you two know how we could get outta here?” asked Doran.
Fion shook his head, “Without our ship I don’t think there’s any other way off this light forsaken place. I don’t even think if there’s goblins working here.”

“There aren’t,” said Dugald, “but there is one more ship out there.”
“One of ours?” asked Doran confusingly.
“Aye, those mercenaries must of missed it.” said Dugald.
“What is it too far out?” asked Fion.

“Yes, not too far to see, but to far to hit with projectiles.” replied Dugald.
“How you spose we get on?” asked Fion.

“There’s a smaller boat but that drops off the supplies,” said Dugald, “if we could get aboard that ship I’m pretty sure we could persuade the captain to go back to Loarderon.”

“Yes, it should work it won’t take much to convince him.” stated Doran.

“Oi, he’s probably sick of this place just as much as we are.” said Fion.

“Aye, well let’s get to it, shall we?” said Doran as they quietly left camp, Dugald leading the way to their last hope of going home.

[BraveLiver]

I enjoyed your laast chapters a lot, but this one was incredibly rushed. Maybe the writing wasn't, but the story itself was.

However, through personal experience I know that rushed parts just mean that you're excited to get to a good part soon after. I'll look forward to that.

[PissingPanther]

“Stay down there coming!” whispered Doran in a fierce tone.
“It’s about time, I just think about going back to camp.” said Fion
“Quiet!” Doran said.

They had been waiting behind a pile of rocks waiting for the boat to come. They were there by the crack of dawn and right now the sun was already at its highest point. Doran watched as the men got out of the boat and started to load the supplies that were not taken to Arthas base camp back on the boat.

“Hurry up and get everything you can, we’ll need it for the trip home.” said a tall lanky sailor.

“Even if we do take all this there still won’t be enough to last the trip.” complained another sailor with a raspy voice. The tall one did not answer, nor did any of the other ones.

“Alright, this is our only chance so just keep calm and try not to get in a fight. They outnumber us five to one and they won’t be too happy about gaining more passengers.” said Doran directing it mostly to Fion. Doran had learned that Fion had quite the temper and did not think before he said what was on his mind.

“Ok here we go let me do the talking.” said Doran. They started moving form behind their cover. No longer being silent for Doran did not want to startle the sailors. He was sure that these men were just as stressed as they and might not think before sticking a dagger in their gut. Once they got nearer to the men the tall man looked up and saw them.

“What are you three doing here?” he asked.

“We are here to get out of here and get home.” answered Doran.

“Under whose orders were you sent home?” he countered.

“The Princes forces are defeated and broken.” said Doran.

“You can not come with us. We hardly have enough supplies for us alone to make the trip home.” said the tall man quickly

“We must hurry, we have lingered here to long.” stated another sailor.
“Yes, we must go, were deeply sorry but you can not come.” answered the tall sailor.

“It is your duty as part of the royal navy to provide us with a ship home. If you leave us here you will not serve your country and instead betray it. If you are just denying us passage because of food shortage then I call you coward.” said Fion angrily.

Doran closed his eyes; he knew the sailors probably did not appreciate being called cowards and could very well leave them on these shores with their throats cut. Although he knew deep down that Fion was right. He looked at the sailors; many had angry expressions on their faces and looked about just to leave them there.

“If Arthas’ forces are destroyed then why should we take you with us.” asked the sailor

“It is your duty.” Fion reminded them slowly.

“Duty,” the tall man sneered,”this is our duty. Loading supplies and unloading them, and occasionally chasing away deserters like you.” The sailor started to unsheathe his short sword.

“We are not deserters.” Dugald said quickly.

“Of course you aren’t,” he said stepping closer,” you three just happen to be the only survivors, when the rest of the Princes forces are crushed.” “The dead do not leave survivors, even I know that.” The sailor stated.
Doran now knew they had no chance of getting on that ship.

“Fain, we must go, we must not linger.” said the man with the raspy voice.
The tall man turned to look at his friend when an ax flew by Doran’s head and stuck in the tall mans chest. He let out a scream and fell to the ground.

“Trolls!” yelled one of the sailors.

Doran turned and saw big blue forms with white, black, and blue hair. The raspy voiced man turned and tried to run but a troll ax flew into his back first. Dorn unsheathed his sword and called for Fion and Dugald to follow him.
He ran to the boat and got in Fion and Dugald closely behind him. He saw many of the sailors scattering and unsheathing their short swords and daggers. One sailor even had a bow and shot many trolls, but the trolls were to strong for those and acted like the arrows didn’t even affect them.

“C,mon we got to get to the ship!” yelled Doran. Doran and Dugald pushed of and jumped in the boat. They all got paddles and started to row as fast as they could. Doran looked back and saw all the sailors either dead or dieing. The trolls then started to throw there axe’s and spears at them.

“Row faster or all will be in vain!” yelled Doran.

“We can’t go any faster, we’re to heavy.” stated Fion.

“Throw the supplies they loaded over board.” answered Doran.

Dugald and Fion threw over all the supplies and continued rowing. Once they reached the ship Doran looked back once again and saw the trolls standing there waving their weapons in the air. Some sailors helped Doran and his companions onto the ship.

“Who are you? Where are my men?” asked a man who was obviously the captain.

“Captain, I’m sorry but your men are lost.” said Doran.

“What happened?” he asked confusingly.

“We were attacked by a troll war party.” stated Doran.

“Why were you there any way? Where is Prince Arthas?” the captain asked.

“His forces are broken, they have no chance for victory,” Doran said, “we are here so we can get back to Loarderon. The campaign here is over.”

“Well then we were just about to leave ourselves. But if you wish to stay aboard you will do work on this ship. If you chose not to work you will be thrown overboard. You must work for your food here.” said the captain.

“Aye, we understand that.” stated Doran.

“Good, now get those supplies below deck and take off your armor. If you fall into the ocean you will sink like a rock.” ordered the Captain.

“Aye sir.” Doran said. Doran, Fion, and Dugald took all the supplies below deck and got a room for themselves. They then took off their armor and went above. By now it was night and the light form the moon shone on the calm water.

“The land looks almost peaceful from this distance.” said Dugald.
“Don’t start Dugald, I don’t even want to think about Northrend for the rest of my life.” said Fion.

Dugald and Fion walked off but Doran stayed. Wondering what he would do when he got back. Would he stay with the army and keep fighting? Or would he do what he always did? Deserting his comrades, and the army. He’s always ran away form his friends, deserting them and running. That what he always did and that’s what he probably would always do. He was a coward, and he knew it.
He wasn’t one of those heroes in the tales and stories. He would fight when he had to but if he had a chance to leave other people to their deaths he would. Doran had to change; he knew he had to change. But never thought he would, how could he? Doran walked away no longer wanting to look at Northrend. He saw Fion and Dugald playing some gambling game with some sailors under the dim light of a lamp and the moon. Doran went below deck and tried to sleep no longer wanting to think of Northrend.

[PissingPanther]

Haven't posted in awhile although this story doesn't seem to be very popular or good i don't know. I'll just keep writing it untill someone says something good or bad bout it. Anyway if you do read this story I won't be posting the chapters for awhile due to school and other things.
-Panther


~*~*~*~*~*~


“NOOOOOO!” yelled the innkeeper as Doran brought his sword down on is shoulder cutting through the collar bone.
He then turned quickly to catch another man trying to run out the door. Doran grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and thrust his sword through his chest making a meaty thump. Doran looked around the room and saw Driscoll stabbing a maid through the gut.

“Come on Doran there’s more upstairs!” yelled Driscoll
Doran and Driscoll ran upstairs and checked every room. None of them had people or zombies in them, until they came to a door at the very end of the hall.

“It’s locked.” said Doran. Doran then backed up and ran his armored shoulder into it. Nothing happened; he tried two more times until the door gave in. In the room were two zombies and one woman looking with horror at the zombies.

“Kill them!” ordered Driscoll.

Doran ran his shoulder into the first zombie and swung his sword at the head of the next. He missed and twirled 180 degrees, the zombie jumped on his back. Doran had his shield strapped to his back so a grabbed hold of the strap on his breastplate and loosened it. That made the zombie fall to the ground with the shield on top of it. Doran stepped on the shield and put all his weight on it. He heard bones cracking and the zombie screaming in pain. He turned in time to see Driscoll cut the head off the women’s body her blood sprayed Doran’s armor.


“AHHHH!” Doran screamed. He was covered in sweat and so was the hammock he was sleeping in. He turned on his side and vomited on the ships floor. He had been haunted by these nightmares every night since the night at Stratholme. The sea sickness did not help him much either. Doran sat up and looked around his small room; the moon light dimly lit it. Fion was still snoring and Dugald was not in the room. He got off his hammock careful not to step in his own vomit, and walked out of the room and up on the deck.

The fresh air and wind felt very refreshing after being under the damp and clammy deck. They had been sailing for almost three weeks now and Doran had been sick the whole time. Fion had nearly been thrown over board for gambling and not being able to pay up. As for Dugald, Doran did not see much of him. He liked to go up on the deck at night and be alone. Yet as Doran looked around the deck he only saw sailors on duty. The Captain said that they would be at the docks in two days. Doran hoped he was right. He could not stand life on a ship.

The back breaking work and harsh conditions were very hard to live with. Although it was better than being at Northrend he still would rather be back on land. Doran was tired and weak from the sea sickness but he dared not go back to sleep. He did not want those dreams to come to him again but he knew they would. Doran looked over to see Dugald standing by the railing at the side of the ship. Doran walked over next to him.

“What are you doing?” asked Doran.
Dugald did not answer. Doran asked him again, no answer. He put his hand on Dugalds arm and he gave a start. Dugald looked at Doran as if he just noticed he was there.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Doran.
Dugald did not answer; he just looked out at the sea.

“Dugald!” yelled Doran, Doran was starting to think that Dugald had lost his mind.
Dugald looked at him as if annoyed.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Doran asked.
Dugald looked out at the sea once more, “Nothing,” he said and walked away.
Doran stood there watching his friend walk away not knowing what was wrong with him.




Dugald went below deck to his room. He saw Fion swinging in his hammock, snoring. Should he do it now? Fion was asleep; Doran would be coming back soon. It would be perfect. He could dump the bodies over the side and say they were lost at sea. No it is to late the sun will be coming up soon and the guards would more likely see him dragging two bodies above deck. But he had to do it soon.

His master grew impatient. He could not get his masters voice out of his head. It was haunting him, and he would be haunted until the task was done. He could not take another day of this. He was seasick and his master wanted him to do his service to the dark. He was due to repay his debt for failing the first time. Yes he had to do it now; it would probably be his only chance with only one day left until they reached land.

Dugald made his decision; he went to his hammock and took out a jagged 10 inch dagger. He walked over to where Fion slept, making sure not to make to much noise. Dugald then he stopped, the blood, it would make too much of a mess. He could possibly get away with the story of them being swept over board but he could not explain some blood stains on the deck. He put the dagger back and looked for something “cleaner” to use. He looked around the small room and found just what he needed. He reached for some chains own a nearby crate. Dugald slowly started to pull the chain off the crate but at the same time keeping an eye on Fion. Dugald dropped the chain to the floor and looked down at it in surprise. The chain had a hook at the end used for hanging meat.

He looked back up at Fion for the hook hitting the floor had caused a loud thump.

Fion was looking at Dugald now in a confused manner.

“Dugald?” Fion said in a confused tone.
Dugald thinking quickly took the end of the chain links and smacked Fion across the face. Fion let out a cry and his hammock snapped at one end and fell to the floor. Dugald kneeled behind Fion and wrapped the chains around his neck and pulled. Fion gagged and started to yank at the chains. Dugald put his knee on Fion’s back and pulled even harder. Fion hit Dugald hard in the midsection with his elbow. Dugald fell back in surprise of the blow. Fion got onto his back and pulled a small knife from his boot. Dugald now knew that he no longer had to worry about keeping it clean but staying alive.

“You’re crazy! What the hells the matter with you?!?” yelled Fion.
Dugald did not answer but he swung his chain at Fion once again. Fion was now alert and dodged the attack.

“Basterd!” yelled Fion as he charged toward the dark friend.
Dugald hit Fion hard across the face with his fist and kicked his back sending Fion sprawling to the floor. Dugald grabbed Fion by the hair and pulled up. Fion grunted and Dugald stuck the hook through Fion’s eye. Blood poured from the wound and Dugald was forced to cover Fion’s mouth to muffle the screaming.

He then pulled up hard and the hook tore through Fion’s skull.
Dugald stood there panting blood spots covering his face and shirt. He looked down at his former friend whose head was now split in two. Fion’s body was lying in his hammock so Dugald quickly wrapped him up so it would hold most of the blood in. He then blew out the lone lamp that light his room and waited.


Doran stood at the side of the ship. It was actually quite peaceful at night. The masts of the ship flapping in the wind, the moon light shining on the water. He had to admit that he would rather be on this ship than Northrend. At least on the ship he didn’t have to about someone wanting to take his life. No matter he turned and started to slowly walk back to his room. Not to sleep but try to get a few words out of Dugald and maybe read a book. After all he would not need to much sleep for he would not be fighting any time soon.

[TJiZzle]

well i read the story so far and im only posting cos not alot of people have posted and when no one posts you dont have alot of motivation to write more. Anyway it's violent but an ok story.