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Portent Alliance • View topic - The story of a farm mage

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 Post subject: The story of a farm mage
PostPosted: Wed Jan 03, 2007 2:36 am 

Joined: Sun Dec 24, 2006 2:56 am
Posts: 4
Location: Raleigh, NC
Just a little background before I drop this lomg read on ya'll. WoW was the last game I plyed. Quite extensively I might add. I rolled on an RP server and had a pretty lengthy backstory for my character. (also Ikob) His many adventures only added to the story. There was a time when I abandoned him and picked him back up again later. I changed guilds once and added another chapter as well, but as I am currently at work, I cannot access that file at the moment. Here is what I have written. I suppose there is a purpose for me posting this. I would hate to see such a rich and evolved story go to waste. I was thinking of encorporating it into my EQ2 Ikob. Any ideas? PM me and share. Id be gratefull. At any rate . . . here you go . . .

The Story of a Farm Mage

The story begins just after Warcraft II: Tides of Darkness and continues through the present.

The Story of a Farm Mage

Chapter 1 - The Arcane Way

When the Moon wanned, it was not yet clear weather or not it took with it the Tides of Darkness and all the war and destruction that Azeroth had known all those years ago. His father Borkis. trained as a Holy knight and servant of the Light in Loarderon, took his mother, Agwinda and retreated south to the temperate forests surrounding Stormwind to live as a simple farmer. For four years they lived as simple folk as their son grew to the age of 15. Then the unthinkable happened. The prince himself, turned evil by the lich king almost single-handedly destroyed the human kingdoms.
Borkis hung his head and silently prayed a prayer that he hadn't said in 4 long years. As he emerged from the cellar, his armor shining brightly with an enormous golden sun on the back and a blue shield with the letter L on the upper left of his breastplate, he hefted his sword high. An aura surrounded him as he kissed his wife and galloped off to once again, in the name of the light, defend the land that he had once served proudly, never again to return home.
It was only 6 months later that that 15 year old son begins his tale. Unable to tend the farm, Ikob's mother sold it and moved to Stormwind with a new sense of pride in who they were and where they had come from, and hoping upon hope that the the light would not abandon them as Borkis had it upon their retreat out of the northern kingdom.
Ikob, now 16 laid his mother in the ground just 1 year later. Having made friends with some regulars at a small inn and tavern called The Blue Recluse, he had only there to call home. Lucky for him the mages and warlocks that frequented the Recluse took a liking to him. Ikob was to be trained as a mage. Having started at a late age, he never developed the patience and calm composure that mages are known for. Raw unrestrained power was his forte'. He mastered the weaves quickly, but not without setbacks. It was impatience that robbed him of his crimson locks. An incorrectly performed spell knocked him out for 3 days. If not for the high priests in the cathedral, he would have lost more than just his hair. As the years passed, the Armies of the Horde began to grow restless. Mages were dispatched all over azeroth. Unable to replentish its ranks since the fall of dalaraan almost 4 years ago, the Council of Mages decided to give Ikob his first assignment. He was to report to a small town just southeast of Stormwind city called Northshire Abby. The rest as they say, is history.
Ikob never lost his impatience, however. Among his many journeys around azeroth he has become known as somewhat of a hothead. What some refer to as a "suicide mage." With this in mind, he continues to melt the rotting flesh off of the faces of the undead armies. . . reguardless to whom they bear aliegence. Remembering that last memory of his father's exodus from his life, he decides, that none shall ever be forgiven!

Chapter 2 - In a Fit of Rage

Having vanquished a thousand foes a thousand times, Ikob stood face to face with the monster that had once called him son. The bright sun and shield that Borkis had once worn proudly was now replaced with a single hand as black as night. His father . . . no . . . his enemy, was now the leader of an elite unit of undead unholy paladins known as The Hand of Darkness. Having eradicated them all, he stood toe to toe with the last. It was this battle that would teach the mighty mage patience, and the true pain of loss.

The air itself began to freeze as Ikob weaved ice from nothing and hurled it towards his foe. At the precise moment of impact, a dark translucent energy shield sprang to life around Borkis. As Borkis charged forward, Ikob called upon his arcane teachings to use the magic of the universe and conjure his own shield. The two met in an intense clash of energy. As Borkis's sword came down, Ikob moved quickly trpping Borkis in a block of ice and in a flash he was thirty feet away. Needing time to regroup, he polymorphed his foe into the only animal he could think of; a sheep from the farm. He needed to think quickly however, as he could not hold the form forever. As immages of his childhood and what his father had become clouded his mind, he reached a breaking point, and in an outpouring of emotion and rage everything was calm. He had tapped into a power that most mages fail to reach. He had become a vessel through which arcane energy flowed. The presence of arcane energy could be felt and seen all around him. As he channeled ice flows, a frost bolt leaped from his fingertips. Then without even channeling he let lose an emense fireball, followed by an explosion of fire. As the dark paladin was being consumed, Ikob charged forward, letting lose an earth shattering explosion of arcane energy. Then all was quiet.

With his foe vanquished, Ikob collapsed. He awoke sometime later in a small chappel that had been witheld from the undead armies for quite some time. All of a sudden the events came back to him in a rush that he was unable to comprehend. Needing time to make sense of all that had transpired, he opened a portal to the land of the night elves, hoping to gain some sort of solace from the nature there. It was here that sorrow, depression and the sense of meaningless set in. The facts were simple . . . Ikob had destryed the last of his family. He had, in a rage, killed without forgiveness, without remorse, and without thought. There is no cure for undeath, but the sense of who we are never leaves. He decided it was time to move on. The world had no place for people the likes of him. He consulted the dwarves of Ironforge to make the nessecary preperations. The powerful artifacts, fame, and gold that he had aquired would go to the most experienced and powerful member of his order to be distrbuted and used as he saw fit. Allatar, the only mage he had ever bowed to reluctantly accepted the gifts. He decided that there was only one way to ensure he avoided the fate of his father. His body must be destroyed completely. With a final farewell, he leaped to his death into the fires of the great forge. His body was consumed immediately. He had one final request. This time, he asked the spirit healer to take him home. The angelic creature obliged. Ikob was gone forever.

Chapter 3 - The Awakening

For years, no days . . . or was it hours? All sense of time seemed to be slipping away. It really was like a long sleep. Ikob could no longer make out the things that crossed the planes of existence. At first, he could still see the buildings, trees, and farms in Elwyn where he knew as home. Now though, everything was covered by what can only be described as a thick, almost cloudlike haze, that seemed to be getting thicker by the second. As he began to drift further in to the world that had now almost consumed him, he began to remember . . .
It had been years since he had visited the old farm. A sad thing indeed that he had to see it while dead. He had never really been able to face it before. Now that he was dead though, he could do whatever he wanted. The deamons that had haunted him were gone now. They couldn't touch this place . . . could they? NO he was sure. Safe at last. Sitting by the stream that had once been the driving force of the farm, he began to reflect on his, now past, life. He had been a good mage. Well above average, despite the short time in training. All the deeds he had accomplished. He had made a name for himself that much was sure. What with all the people that raised their glasses to him at the Recluse, all the pesants that bowed as he rode by on Tareck's Back. He had even Broken bread with High-Lord Bolvar himself! He was no stranger to the other races of Azeroth either. An strong one in the war effort as well. Only one foe, in his many battles to win Arathi Basin, Warsong Gulch, and Alterac Valley has never kneeled before the spirit healer in shame because of him. Cavik. His skill is unmatched. Even if he is undead, credit must be given to that one. He laughed out loud as he thought about all the times he had envoked the elements, and all the anger that channeled them. That part of him was gone. Something else had taken his heart . . . peace . . . that was what he felt.
As he slipped deeper into his meditative state, he reached a point of pure bliss. He was one with everything. What he didn't realize was this was his soul itself rejoining countless others before him, in an ever revolving pool of wisdom and knowledge. He could even see the future. What he saw terrified him beyond anything he had known. The scourge would return.
He searched desperately for a way to tear himself away from these visions. It was then that he realized what was happening to his soul. He had to get out. Then . . . a familiar yet foreign presence seemed to merge with him. Suddenly he could remember things from before he was born. Armies clashed on Battlefields. Orcs seemed to fight with a rage that blinded them to their own existence. Then he saw those orcs fall, followed by Undead marching and destroying everything in their wake until they were stopped by a coalition of forces only these orcs seemed . . . different. Through the rush of knowledge, and visions he was somehow able to hang on to one single thing. The blue "L" of lordaeron and the Golden sun of the Lights Defenders. After all he had done, his father had rescued him at the breaking point. Armed with the knowledge of the soul pool, he knew how to return. His father had given him the key. Before his soul could completely return to the collective, he called upon his arcane powers again. By inverting the weaves, and channeling through deamonic portals he was able to pull himself to another demension. Now free from the pool of souls he sought out the spirit healer of this plane. She agreed to return him, but there would be a price. It appears that he had only been dead for a few seconds, not days or hours. Ikob's soul was returned to his body just outside of Ironforge where he died. Horribly scarred from the forge fires, he now wears a mask enriched by his own arcane powers to hide his face from the world. Much of what he had was gone, but he had gained much much more.
With the knowledge of 10000 lifetimes, he set out on his new journey. Even if the scourge win, they will fear for an eternity the masked mage that they face when that day comes.
The preperations have begun, and his goal simple. To regain that which was lost, and to harness the power of the universe. The world would know soon enough the calm rage that burned inside. Ikob was back.

The End . . . or is it?

Level 28 High Elf Wizard
Level 23 Sage

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