The Die Of Fate Are Caste (RP)

[Packhunter]

<<Well guys, that's it with this Packhunter is current in a sense as a character. I've done my best to keep things straight timeline wise, just remember working with time travel isn't easy for characters or us poor smucks who end up writing stories involving it. Heck, think of poor Marty McFly. Knowing Vorsa and a few others they are shocked given the deadlines I had to produce this, and my work/training schedule in the real world. I did tap into Packhunter's origin story to help fill things out a bit here. Beyond that I hope as always you enjoy it.>>

Packhunter's Command
Shadowmoon Valley, Dreanor
33 years ago

Pheatus Strongarm was the kind of dwarf that people thought of when they thought of his people. Short, and as strong as a rampaging ram. He had lost his left eye during the fall of Theramore, and at the time as an afterthought had a piece of leather screwed over the hole, and then he had fallen into another kind of hole, a drinking one.

Pheatus had been a known associate of Packhunter before Packhunter was known as Packhunter. He was part of that small scouting team that had fought a rear guard movement against a swarm of Orc warriors, and one Death Knight before the Northshire Abby, where Packhunter had been thrown forward in time, he had arrived there the hard way, until now when they were on the other side of the portal before the Orcs had invaded Azeroth. Thoughts like this gave him a headache, he knew Packhunter would give something of great value if he could go back though the portal, but keep time straight if only to see his wife and family again, to know they weren't lost to him like sand to the wind. It was the kind of wound that rarely if ever truly healed.

Walking up Main Street, he knew he had a task to do, and given how many citizens of Packhunter's Command had shown up, he knew they knew it was one hell of a show that was coming up. When he had fallen into the drink, so badly in fact that his hair changed from its normal bright red to the color of ale. Packhunter somehow found him, dragged him up by his plated boots, and then gave him a job. Captain of the Guards! While Packhunter was more than prepare to handle the day to day administrative affairs of such a command, he had no interest or skill in keeping people inline, and preparing for a possible invasion with individual training. Invasions there had been, in fact recently it seemed every enemy faction wanted payback against Packhunter and struck at his home in Dreanor.

Standing with his back to the main gates, he saw Packhunter now starting to descend from the town hall. People formed a circle around main square with its beautiful fountain in the middle. When planning this square, Packhunter had placed the barn as close to the sea exit as he could, and it had the stables nearby so both smells canceled each other out. Pheatus own beloved barracks were to his far left. One of his human Lieutenants named Wellington, had borrowed Packhunter's Disc of Red Flying Cloud so he could address the audience hovering above the fountain, he said "Ladies, Gentlemen, and Gnomes," which got people laughing, always good when two people were to have it out, "We are here to witness this battle of truth!" Pointing one arm towards Packhunter he said, "I give our Commander, Packhunter, Marshal of the Armed Forces of the Alliance, Legendary Blacksmith, and adventurer with few peers!" Packhunter raised one of the swords from his back to salute the cheering crowd. Now swinging both arms towards Pheatus, Wellington said, "And this week's challenger, one of the finest drill instructors from Theramore, our own Captain of Guard, Captain Strongarm!" Pheatus nodded his head, and slammed his broadsword against his shield to salute the crowd, and then looked Packhunter eye to eye, trying to see past that blue glaze to see if he could see what was going on in that mechanical mind that his friend called a head. Just for a moment he remembered the first time they had had it out like this, before the stone walls, before the buildings had been built up, when he was still who he wasn't, and Packhunter demanded he become who he had been...

The walls were made of sharpened logs, very little stone was used in what was then a small outpost, heck town hall was little more than a shed, and he was drunk. Despite Packhunter assigning him this job as Captain of the Guards, and expecting him to fall back into his abilities as a military trainer, the horrors from Theramore haunted him day and night. It hadn't helped that Packhunter had gone out of his way to recruit cadets and officers who had served at Theramore before and during the bomb blast.

It wasn't even midday, and he was already by his still, sampling the current batch, and sampling was a polite way of saying he was completely smashed. Well he thought he was smashed until Packhunter smashed him! He remembers that vague humanoid form in gold, and then Packhunter growled, "This is how my Captain of the Guards is conducting himself before midday? A bunch of Orcs could walk in here, destroy the place short of your precious still, and I'd doubt you'd notice Pheatus." and with that Packhunter somehow lifted him up with just one arm, and promptly threw him though one of the log walls. He barely remembered feeling the logs falling down on him, but somehow he held onto his bottle. "Is this what has truly become of the man I saved 35 years ago?" The contempt was easily heard in his voice, "If I had known this is what you would've become, I might've taken the long way to our current time and let you die at the Abby. Thankfully as a father I know how to break a baby from his bottle."

Pheatus remembered trying to get up, trying to find his sword, but his hand kept firmly locked on the bottle like it was his last and only refuge. Before he knew it, Packhunter was on him again, a roar on par with a wolf, Packhunter lifted him up, threw him so high in the air that when he came down he totaled the shed that was their town hall. He remembered pulling himself out from the destroyed building, and losing his lunch. People were milling about they were talking, and Packhunter stood there waiting for him. He realized then he had a choice, and Packhunter wouldn't move until he made it. Somehow in his drunk (and injured state) he found his sword. With a shield on the left arm, and sword in his right hand he charged at Packhunter ready to kill him! It seemed too easy, his sword was high and he couldn't miss. Except Packhunter moved as fast a lightening, and somehow knocked him out, and took his sword before he remembered eating dirt for a third and final time in their short conflict.

When he next awoke, he was in a bed in the barracks, with Packhunter looking at him from a chair that was against the opposite wall. The barracks were empty save the two of them. Packhunter said, "You have a choice old friend, no going back. When you walk out of here, I'll know your decision." With that Packhunter got up from the chair he had been occupying, and walked out of the barracks. In that moment Pheatus realized that Packhunter had taken off all the armor that usually protected him from the waist up. Somehow he found the strength to get up from the bed he was in, and it all made sense now. Next the door frame there was a small table; it held a crutch, a bottle, and a sword.

I hate doing this thought Packhunter as he stood in the improvised center square, he'd rather in the field, but after what had happened people deserved answers, "People, I know many of you are offended at the idea that I just demolished part of our camp, our future, and that I assaulted our Captain of the Guard, the man that I am suppose to trust most to protect you, to be law and order when I am not present. I cannot blame you for wanting to leave after what I did, but hear me out." Taking in a breath, and keeping his back to the barrack door, "I am a warrior, I've been one for years while many of you have lived in cities, and villages before, and knew that kind of justice and social norm. We're on the edge of the world here, so we can't have the same kind of system they do back in Azeroth. I knew that Pheatus had a problem with the bottle, I had hoped by giving him new purpose in life, that he'd release it. I was wrong; it is now my hope that by facing the truth he'll accept the responsibilities I have given him. I will face any of you, if you feel I need to see something or vis versa once a week in a trail by choice of the challenger."

Curse that man thought Pheatus, he was barely past the threshold of the door when Packhunter turned to face him, "What do you say Pheatus?", And with that Pheatus leaned on a crutch to walk forward before dropping the bottle at the right angel to insure it smashed into a thousand pieces....

That had been 19 months ago and he still remembered every hit Packhunter had delivered, and true to his word. Packhunter had issued, and taken on challenges of truth once a week. For the 4 months it seemed like Packhunter had been hell on wheels, pushing the people under his command harder than ever, and as Captain of the Guards, he needed answers, and he planned to get them, win or lose.

The crowd was ready for a good one, but before Wellington left his spot, he announced as a surprise environmental problem, that this battle would be fought during a hail storm thanks to the co-operation of some mages. With that the disk ascended up into the artificial cloud cover, and with the grace of an acrobat Wellington jumped off of it with a flip to land safely in the crowd. Across from each other both men gave their signature salute to the crowd, for Pheatus it was slamming the flat side of his sword on his shield, and Packhunter it was spinning both blades, one in each hand at the same time. Damn that man though Pheatus, despite all the plate armor Packhunter wore and he had dexterity with his fingers that few could match.

Packhunter came charging at Pheatus, flame leaping up behind him and leap into the air ready to impale the dwarf with both his swords. With a quick move at the last moment Pheatus spun so he was now behind the warrior when he landed and stabbed him right in the back of his right knee, he could hear Wellington announce first blood to him. He saw Packhunter turn; he could see the warrior trying to hold back the pain he felt. A sword came crashing down; he rolled out of the way with a moment to spare.

"What are you this day Captain Pheatus, the giver or the receiver of truth?" challenged Packhunter. He went for a lazy horizontal slice of the left blade from right to left; he had to force Pheatus back so the wound to his knee could heal a bit. The pellets of hail were increasing in size, and amount falling. The ones that had fallen were like marbles on oil making it hard to keep their footing.

"I am both my Lord," he locked his short sword behind his shield, as he charged at Packhunter, and sliding on the slick service he got his right hand on one of Packhunter's and with a twist of the wrist got him to throw a sword way. Now if he could only keep his footing as he slides towards the barracks. "What do you think I just gave you?"

Damn Packhunter thought, a new trick from an old friend, and a sore wrist, "Besides developing some new moves, I'd say it looks like you threw away your bottle, and still. A shame really, some of the spirits you made over the years were strong enough to knock a ragging orca with just a whiff of it."

Passing his remaining sword from one hand to another, his next move was a gamble, but this whole fight was one. How few battles were fought during hail he thought, and you had next to no traction. Using his free hand he taunted Pheatus, both foes circled each other, both attuned to the environment. Dropping his remaining sword low he charged at Pheatus, who predictably dropped into a crouch to take the full impact of Packhunter's charge with his shield, but at the last moment Packhunter dropped down, using his sword as a pivot point to deliver a kick around the shield sending Pheatus flying toward the barracks."It isn't mud, but there is ice in your eyes Pheatus, what truth do you demand this day?"

Pheatus never had handled cold well, and pellets on his face burned him in a way that only those who experienced knew. He plunged his sword into the ground to help himself get up. The crowd had parted so he was still within the battle arena, "Why are you pushing my boys so hard my Lord, why are you giving some of our best and most eager vacation time?" As he was getting up he saw Packhunter had recovered his sword, and the blood has stopped flowing from his wounded knee. They weren't at par, but he had to reclaim the edge in this battle. He charged at Packhunter full of rage, and it was Packhunter who dodged him this time. In a double strike he felt one sword destroy both shoulder pieces, and the one of the hits now caused him to bleed over the ground.

"Are you sure you could handle the truth Pheatus?" Packhunter leap into the air, and brought down both swords like a Paladin's hammer ready to crush his Captain of Guard who brought up his shield at the last moment, and as the shield broke in two right down the middle, Packhunter felt the small dagger find that spot between the plates that guarded him, and cut into belly, "Well done" he whispered, belly wounds took longer to recover, and were potential fatal. Something that would be prevented in a trail given the easy access to healers.

The hail was making is hard to think, thought Pheatus, but they were both still in game, "I can handle anything you can muster," Packhunter was trying to ignore the pain, but while his face was down Pheatus went for what some considered a dirty blow, a good old fashion sweeping kick which would resulted in Packhunter being knocked literally down on his ass.

Packhunter didn't need to see the blow to prepare for it. He could hear Pheatus dropping down for the sweep kick, and he jumped, not much just enough to dodge the blow, and then jammed his swords into the ground so he could swing out with both his feet to give a double kick to Pheatus's jaw sending him flying right into the fountain, "This battle isn't over, and neither is ours old friend. In fact I am pushing our remaining greenhorns and resting men under my command for the battles that are to come back in Azeroth."

Water made cold by hail stung like swarm of bees with needles of ices for barbs digging into each joint of Pheatus armor. His jaw felt like it had been kicked by a bucking ram, not a man! The kick had split open his lower lip, and it was bleeding hard and fast, as well as swelling up like a balloon. The water flowing from the fountain and over his helm made it next to impossible to see anything, "Explain yourself old friend, we both know we're in this fight still, but I sense you mean more than what you say." Damn it thought Pheatus as he got up, he couldn't see his sword, much less his foe. Ripping his helmet off, he used it to scoop up whatever was at his feet and threw it in the direction he thought Packhunter was coming at him.

Barely able to stand Packhunter saw the improvised projectile coming his way, grabbing a the sword on his right with his left hand he gave slapping it away with the flat side of this blade to stop it from hitting him in the face. He could feel the blood running from his belly hit down his left leg and to the ground, "We failed here, Gul'Dan escaped from Hellfire Citadel at the last moment. Despite his failure to rewrite history, he's accomplished his goal. He's released the Burning Legion there on Azeroth, and our home is in mortal peril."

Forcing himself up to stand like the warrior he was, Packhunter saw Pheatus looking for some sign of his sword, and tried to look everyone in the eye, "The Burning Legion has already drawn first blood and has safe harbor in the Broken Islands. Earlier this week King Varian Wrynn died in combat, at the betrayal of the Horde!"

Walking now around the circle, and looking people in the eye, he continued, "I am giving people rest now Pheatus, since I don't just plan to earn a spot on an Ante Meridiem raid team. I don't just plan to break every bone in Gul'dan's body and let him live in a state of living death, I plan to use this command to remind every member of the Horde that betraying the Alliance has its repercussions!" Everyone present knew how loyal Packhunter had been to the now late King Wrynn, and none were surprised by the rage in his voice when he spoke of their betrayal of the Alliance in a key moment.

Hearing Pheatus's plated feet on the ground Packhunter turned at the last moment drawing a blade to deflect his Captain's short sword, only to miss the dagger he jammed into the joint in his left shoulder and ripped down from top to bottom with it, somehow he kept from crying out in pain, "To answer your question old friend, I've already countered several invasions on the mainland, and have killed several members of the Horde too stupid to not realize entering Alliance territory is hazardous to your health."

Pheatus saw Packhunter's left arm drop like a ton of bricks, it was useless to the warrior. The blood bleeding from it added more to the slush that was forming at their feet. "And what of Burning Legion? What of Jaina? Of Anduin?" asked Pheatus. He knew he was running out of daggers, and blast Packhunter it seemed no matter what Pheatus did he couldn't get him to surrender. As much as he needed to think a move, he could see Packhunter preparing for something, so he did the crazy thing. He drew his sword back, and prepared to stab it upwards into the warrior's jaw and kill him.

The blood lose was making it harder to feel his extremities, and to focus, he could see Pheatus drawing his arm back for the killing blow. He calmed himself, focused on a mantra that eternity is a moment, and moment is an eternity. Feeling the moment draw itself out like string, he fell back, giving himself space, spinning with his back to Pheatus he raised his blade behind him, and felt Pheatus impale himself on it in as he jumped trying to stab Packhunter in the back only to now find himself stabbed by the blade hidden by Packhunter's cloak.. Gods above and below he thought, he could feel the dwarf's weight, but this trail had to be completed, and it was almost over.

Turning the blade around, and passing it from his good right hand to his useless left one, he responded to the questions Pheatus has posed, "The Burning Legion must be defeated before the Horde, but make no mistake the Horde's days are numbered unless they have a damn good reason for betraying us and letting our King die. The Lady Jaina Proudmore has seen the horrors of the Horde and is agreeing with the position of her late father, Admiral Proudmore. In regards to the young king to be, he is too young to take command of the Alliance, and I doubt many people will support his pacific agenda."

Like a mighty oak fallen by an axe, Packhunter felt his knees give out as he collapsed onto them. He heard the hail coming to an end, as Wellington came rushing forward to raise his right arm, and said something. It was all so distant; it would be so easy to sleep...

As the healers worked their magic both men were healed, but not before a photo was taken of the two warriors in their beaten state. It was a matter of honor for both of them, to show future opponents that both men would go the distance. As both regained the ability to stand, the stood up face to face, took off their right gauntlets and shook hands forearm to forearm as was the warrior way.

[Skeletor]

good read keep up the good work my friend

--skeletor--

[Packhunter]

It only came to me now (after 12 years of writing stuff like this), some of our more . . . youthful members. Might see this and get evil ideas on how to avoid homework.

Since I can see Johnny being given a homework assignment to write a story, its a good way to develop his writing skills. Johnny likes to play WoW, Johnny is in the same guild (or old days realm) as Packhunter. Johnny claims Packhunter's story as his story so he gets to skip doing his homework, since in a sense Packhunter did it for him.

Either I am slow in a sense for seeing it after so long, or kids are if they missed this.