Forsaken: WoW RP (sign up/discussion)

[Bob The Mercenary]

I originally planned this as a short story, but figured it would be better as an RP. I have a plot planned that takes place in the WoW world and would take advantage of everything about the world in almost the exact same chronology as starting a new game in WoW would (with the exception of a few things). But, the rules are a little different from a standard RP.

The sign up format is just a couple things.
Name:
Race:
Class:

That's it. No need to describe yourself yet or anything, because you can do that whenever you choose to enter the story. The only requirement is that you be horde and a "good" guy. I mean, you can be alliance, it's just that you won't be in the story for a very very long time.

Like I said there's a rough storyline, but I'll only use it to keep the RP on track. I can't wait to see how the twists play out.

Here's the "prologue". It's four single spaced pages, which is why I spoiler'd it.

INCOMING WALL OF TEXTPrologue

The murloc skidded abruptly to a halt after racing through what seemed like miles of cultivated farmland. Its legs were bleeding from the razor wire and an assortment of bruises adorned its torso. It didn't know what it was running from, it wasn't smart enough for that. Its mental capacity was limited to that of a fish, driven by the primal urges of hunger and, as it so happened, panic.
It hopped over a shrub and found itself in a clearing among a patch of cabbage. Its bloated head darted left and right, its enormous glassy eyes scanning for others of its kind. Signs of safety, a way of escape. But, unfortunately for the murloc, its hunger soon overcame its panic and it settled down to devour a tasty looking head of cabbage. That's when it saw something else.
Something was coming towards it. Whatever it was it was flying, perfectly straight. The murloc's instincts kicked in and its full attention was now turned on this new meal diving out of the sky. It was coming straight towards the murloc, this would be an easy catch. It had already forgotten about the cabbage. Its mouth watered with thoughts of a fresh carcass as it leaped into the air in anticipated ecstasy, mouth wide open. It was in that moment of pure joy that it realized what the object was.
The steel head of the arrow pierced the back of the murloc's throat and ended its fantasy. Its body flopping back to earth, bouncing down a hill and landing on the bank of a small irrigation channel.
“Five!”
Michael shot past the corpse on his horse, his father trotted along with his own steed and surveyed the opposite end of the farm's western border. The towers of Stormwind provided a distant backdrop for the two's game of search and destroy. Michael wiped his brow and knocked an arrow in expectation of another target.
This game had been going on for a good hour. The sun had began to set, but Michael had already decided he wasn't going inside until his victory was in the bag. The score was tied. He only needed one more of the land fish to show their face
And it did. Sheathes of grass parted as the murloc ran from the sounds of hooves. Michael's father had also seen the little beast and moved to engage. The pursuit led the two through the carrots, potatoes, and pumpkins before both men saw an opportunity in the cornfield to end it. They both let arrows fly and they disappeared in the corn. The murloc stopped moving.
They dismounted and walked to where the murloc had been last seen. The corpse lay in between two stalks in a sickening unnatural position. One bolt had gone through its head, the other through its stomach.
Michael's father grinned. “Six.”
He laughed in protest. “Are you kidding? That's my arrow in his skull. Victory me.”
“Mine got there first.”
“Mine killed it!”
“Dinner time!” Michael's mother struggled through the corn, his little sister in tow. Her face went white as she noticed the corpse.
“Mom! Opinion!” He lifted up the dead murloc by its leg. “Which one of these arrows wins? Mine right? I hit it in the head!”
“Mine got there first.” His dad shoved him playfully.
His mother sighed. “Um...I guess it's a tie then.”
Michael frowned. “A tie......SUDDEN DEATH!” He turned and pushed past his father who pursued him back into the field.
His mother shouted behind them. “Just remember to wash your hands afterwards!”

Only when one really explored the farm did they realize how expansive it was. It had taken almost three seasons to construct a fence around the entire thing to keep the murlocs and kobolds out. The two men walked the length of it, weapons sheathed as they were now too tired to chase anything.
“Where do you think they're getting in?”
“Mmm, I'm guessing the bastards are swimming the irrigation ditches. They're the only weaknesses in the border. We might have to get someone in town to help us grate those off.”
They came to the portion of the farm where the woods intruded on the property. They used their hands and leaned on the fence to keep from slipping on moist tree roots and fallen limbs as they continued forward. If there was a hole anywhere in the fence, this is where it would be. A downed tree could easily snap the wire.
They finally emerged from the wilderness and found the problem. And it was a big problem.
They're faces went blank as they studied an entire twenty foot section of fence that had been toppled. The section was laying perfectly square in the dirt adjacent to the empty length. It looked like the two endposts had come right up out of their holes and fallen over. They examined the wood and came to the bottom of the posts. They had been broken into two pieces near the midsection.
“These aren't tooth marks I've ever seen.”
“Me either. Could lightning have done this?”
His father lifted it up and examined it closer. “No, nothing's burned. Unless murlocs suddenly learned how to use axes, I think we have an arson on our hands.” He dropped it and let it splat in a puddle of mud. “I'll go into town tomorrow and report it. Until we get a new section we'll just have to make due with this.” He and Michael hoisted the broken section and rested it against two trees, roughly around where it used to be.

The smell of hot stew thankfully overpowered the dried murloc blood on Michael's pants. That was one of the benefits of owning a farm, everything was as fresh as could be. His father set his bow against the wall next to the pantry and pulled his mother into a bear hug.
“Ugh!”
“What? It's just murloc guts.”
“Thomas, you really are incredible. Go change before I throw up.”
He shot Michael a surprised look. “That's no way to talk to your knight in shining armor, who's out in the fields all day doing battle with intruders!”
“Honey, they're murlocs.”
“They're invasion forces!” He picked up a sword that hung on the wall, swinging it wildly. “They sneak in at night to pillage and plunder...and eat the occasional turnip.”
Michael's sister laughed as she scooped some more stew out of her bowl.

After dinner was over, his sister helped his mother clear the table and his father's attention turned to paperwork. After his mother and sister had left the room, Michael sat down across from his father who was appending his journal.
“I was thinking of going into the city tomorrow. See what I could find out.”
“I thought we already discussed this.”
He leaned forward. “But, it's the guard. They pay well. They get women. They fight crime. You see how good I'm getting with the sword. And I don't want to be a farmer for the rest of my life.”
“I've heard things about the guard.”
“Like what?”
His father let his pen drop. “The matter is settled. This is my word over yours. I want you to forget about the guard.”
“Dad...”, he slumped in his chair, “come on.”
“I said forget about it!” His father locked eyes with him for a moment before returning to his work.
There was silence as his father turned a page and continued on the opposite side.
“I just...I just don't want to be like the Dughans. Live their whole lives in Goldshire, never see the rest of the world.”
“Son, there are parts of the world you don't want to see. And in the guard you just might be sent there.”
“I thought the war was over.”
“Not for some people.” He shut his journal and stood. “Look, tomorrow we'll go into town, look into some other sort of protection job. Maybe someone can pick you up to work on caravans or something. You're better with the bow than your sword. Better than me at least.” As he opened the door to his bedroom he turned. “And I was wrong, yours got there first anyway.”

Michael couldn't sleep. He sat in his father's favorite chair by the fire because that usually did the trick on nights like this. The wind was picking up outside, it sounded like a real storm was coming. Drops of rain had already started piddling off the roof and he heard some occasionally fall on the dinner table from the crack in the ceiling he had procrastinated in fixing.
He was reading a novel. An account of the Second War. Sometimes he imagined he was reading a biography of himself. The page he had it opened to was a story about Turalyon's battle at the Dark Portal. Every detail on the page was enhanced in his mind. Sometimes when he read, he would catch himself emulating the swings of the swords and smashes of the warhammers with his free hand. That's who he wanted to be. One day he would make it out of here. One day, he would be swinging a sword, and it would be killing something other than a murloc.
A breeze hit him. He thought his parents might have opened their door to check on him, but there was no familiar sound of creaking. The breeze hit the fireplace and shot embers all over the room. He turned to see the front door open halfway.
The arson. It has to be him. There's no way that door was open this long without me noticing.
He rose slowly. The only light in the house was from the fireplace. Plenty of dark corners. Plenty of places to hide.
“Hello?”
Like they're going to answer. He just wanted to make it known that he knew someone was there. There would be no surprises. He took careful even steps towards the back of the house, the kitchen, where the open door resided, stopping every couple feet to listen. Eventually he reached the door and closed it slowly.
The rain picked up and was making a steady racket now. He convinced himself it was nothing, the door had simply popped open on its own, probably from the wind. Though, he wished it were a burglar, just so that he could be the hero and save the day. He laughed to himself and looked out the window above the pantry. The first streaks of lightning had started flashing, making the farm and the rear of the house visible only for fractions of a second.
Orcs.
He was sure of it.
Nothing around here was that big and lumbered with that deliberateness. The horses and other livestock were lying dead at their feet, presumably to keep them from making any noise. They were coming towards the house.
He almost screamed as something grabbed him by the shoulder. It was his father.
“Shhhhh.”
They watched silently as the orcs continued slowly towards the front door. His father picked up his bow and arrows that had been resting against the pantry. He then motioned Michael to go to the door. He deduced he was going to have him open the door while his father let loose on them.
They were close. He listened through the doorframe as their footsteps hit the ground in a disjointed mess. They came so close that the silverware started to rattle. Then it was silent again. Michael's father looked on with an intensity he had never seen. Maybe that was fear. He didn't know his dad was afraid of anything.
He nodded his head in a count to three, then Michael would throw the door.
One.
Two.
The rear window caved in as something enormous blasted through it, falling on top of his father. The orc was huge, three times the girth of a man. Michael reacted instinctively and grabbed a hunting knife he used on the farm from out of a drawer. He pulled the orc off his dad as the rest of them came through the hole in the wall.
His mother came out of their bedroom.
“Get back inside! Lock the door!” His father screamed from the floor.
The one he had pulled off swung randomly and landed a blow to Michael's cheek that sent him tumbling into the dinner table. He recoiled onto his feet as a mob of orcs began laying into his dad.
They were wearing armor, and they're sleeves were decorated in patches. These weren't tribal orcs, they were military. Why the hell was a military band here in Goldshire? Who's military? Why us?
He lunged at one and skewered it in the side with his knife, catching it in an exposed portion of flesh. The orc bellowed and brought both his fists down as Michael dodged, splintering the pantry and several other pieces of furniture.
In the commotion he heard his mother leave with his sister out the side door at the other end of the house. At least they would be safe.
His father grappled with the one with the wound in his side as both the others came at Michael. This was a losing fight. If they stayed here they both would die. He ran down the hall to his room. His sword rested against his bed. He grabbed it and returned to the kitchen just in time to block an orc as its knife came down inches from his dad.
He engaged two of them, forgetting his training and swinging blindly. His dad continued his torrent of punches and attempted to move them closer to the door. Neither of them noticed one of the orcs had picked up the bow that had dropped to the floor. He aimed it at Michael's heart.
“No!”
His dad elbowed him out of the way as the bolt entered his neck. Michael fell to the floor with him. His father's body spasmed for only a few moments before it fell motionless.
This wasn't real. He was convinced. None of this was real. Why would this happen? What possible explanation was there? He had fallen asleep on the couch and this was his dream. His nightmare.
He didn't stop to think, he didn't even take one last look before he bolted out the back door and into the farmland beyond the house.
He couldn't see a damn thing. He just ran. He kept telling himself to run. Run and it will be okay. You can make it. You'll see. Everything will be okay. That's when he tripped and fell hard.
It was quiet again. He couldn't even hear the rain. All he could hear was the sound of his own heart beating faster than ever before. He brushed himself off and noticed what he had tripped over. The bodies of his mother and sister, covered in blood and just as still as his father's had been.
His stomach hurt, but it wasn't in mourning, nor was it indigestion. An orc stood snarling in his face, his hand gripping a knife through his gut.
As he fell to the ground, he didn't feel anything. Not the knife, not the rain. And before he died he wondered if the orcs were playing a game like he and his dad did. And he was number six.