Hello and welcome to the official website of the Päck! Are you a lost son or daughter of Gilneas seeking a home? Well you have found it here! We are an all Worgen RP/PVP guild looking to restore Gilneas to its former glory and remove the foul footprint of the Forsaken. Join us and help us in our noble task! Thank you for your interest.
(( I wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who contributed to this story. Every single piece was a wonderful addition and I am so proud. I also wanted to thank The Päck for showing support and attending all of the RP events that revolved around this story and those of the guild The Gathering from the server The Venture Co. Below are a list of names who took time out of their day to show this server their creativity. I think we are all very lucky to be part of this amazing community together.
Greavell, Allei, Siegfried, Draugeriol, Erinde, Broxin, Lighthouse, Sephile, Alenjandros, Prowly, Halger, Janng, Mahikan, Mcskinner, Juithmarie, Felia, Teredri, Vincent, Nordant, Ashyan, Oddvar, Vittara, Cadewallen
Thank you so very much. You are all amazing. ))
“My love, wake up, I am here.” Greavell whispered softly at the entrance of the cell. Nymaway sat up, her wrists and ankles were no longer bound together by chains and cuffs, but the feeling of them being there still remained. She was dressed in black and purple cultist robes, her face and body bloodied and bruised. She had tried to clean herself up the best she could, but without soap and a proper bath, there was only so much she could do.
She rubs her wrists then looks away from Greavell. The undead warlock Vincent, stood behind him, his eye sockets glowing green with a stare of satisfaction on his rotting face.
That look made Nymaway tremble. That look meant more pain was to come. At least that is what she was used to.
Greavell held out his hand to her, with trembling hands she took it. He helped her to her feet, but standing was almost impossible for her.
Vincent snapped his finger, a minion wearing a black and purple robe with a hood covering his face appeared. The warlock stared at the minion for a brief moment. “ A tall one aren't you?” The minion ignored Vincent's comment and walked over to her picking her up then moving past the two of them towards the bone altar. Too weak to fight, Nymaway looked back at Greavell and Vincent. The looks on their faces were complete opposite from one another.
The warlock was looking more and more satisfied the closer they got to the altar. Greavell looked as though he had trouble composing himself. His anger was starting to seep through.
Once at the altar the minion waited for the two to pass him, he then gently placed Nymaway down onto it, taking a few steps back quickly.
Nymaway laid on the altar unable to get up, she reached for Greavell, but he was too busy listening to Vincent.
“ Tonight you shall take her place. And tonight we shall usher in a new world.” He screeched raising his bony hands towards the sky.
Greavell glared at him clenching his fists. “Be on with it, release her.”
A shriek escapes Nymaway's parched lips. “ What will happen to Greavell?”
Vincent then walks over to Greavell and touches his forehead. “ You will take her place. So I shall be bound to you both. For her love for you and your love for her is eternal.”
While the three fire demands back and forth, the tall cloaked minion moves closer towards Nymaway.
The warlock now grinning he blesses Greavell with his evil mark. He ensures that he feels a burning sensation under his skin as a piece of himself is forever attached to him. He looks back at Nymaway narrowing his glowing eye sockets then points.
Nymaway crawls forward using the last of her strength, she reaches up and clutches onto Greavell's hand as he howls out in pain. Vincent begins to laugh wickedly as he begins to cast another spell causing Greavell more pain. Another howl echos and then he turns around yelling at the cloaked minion. “ GO! GET HER OUT OF HERE!”
The night elf Oddvar rips the cloak off revealing himself, he dashes towards Nymaway picking her up slinging her over his shoulder, she screams as she is ripped away from Greavell. “ NO! He will kill him!!”
Off in the distance many different howls can be heard, and the sounds of weapons clinking against one another. The Päck and its most trusted of friends and allies were pouring in from all sides pushing up past Oddvar and Nymaway.
Oddvar turns to look back but all he can see is waves of black magics being cast, and pack members flying back. The dust was so thick it was hard to make anything else out.
Finally a scream is heard as the warlock is begins to fall. “ You...only stall...the inevitable...This is not the end...of me...Curse your ….trinkets and items...I will live on...”
Oddvar tries to set Nymaway down, but she falls to her knees. He quickly picks her up holding onto her tightly. “ We need healers here now!”
Ashyan runs over pulling out bandages from his pack, he starts to clean the wound at Nymaway's side. She lets out a painful cry then begins to shake growing pale.
Oddvar places his hand on her forehead then screams. “ She is burning up, we are losing her!”
Ryin and Madulu start casting their healing spells, and Teredri starts to call forth her frost abilities in an attempt to cool her off.
Weakly Nymaway holds onto Oddvar's neck, she looks up at him before closing her eyes one last time.
Oddvar shakes her in an attempt to wake her up, the pack begins to panic. Greavell races down from the alter shifting to his human form he pulls out a golden leaf pressing it against her chest. It begins to glow green as he forces all of the healing nature magic he knows through into her.
A moment of silence passes by, Greavell stumbles as he becomes weak. A faint cough leaves Nymaway's lips, her eyes open looking at Greavell, she pushes his hand away stopping him from further harming himself.
Looking up at Oddvar she weakly says. “ Can we please leave this place.”
“ We need a portal to Darnassus now!” Oddvar snaps.
Nymeria walks up and calls forth a portal to Darnassus. Oddvar gets up and carefully carries Nymaway through.
One by one the pack members slowly file through the portal, some carrying their pack mates or friends.
In the temple in Darnassus pack members, and friends spread out around the Moonwell. Healers race around healing those in need. Faint groans of pain, and small conversation could be heard.
The room goes silent when Greavell finally steps through the portal. He walks up to Oddvar at the moonwell. Oddvar holds onto Nymaway looking down at her, he then passes her to Greavell. She whimpers in pain as she is passed into his arms. Greavell quickly carries her into the water then sits down.
A few moments pass by, Nymaway lifts her head slightly looking at Greavell. “ I knew you would come for me.”
Slowly opening her eyes, Nymaway stared at the wooden poles once again. “ I am still here?” A heavy sigh escaped her blood encrusted lips as she tries to sit up, but now moving was a real chore for her. The wound at her side now wreaked of infection, and her vision was a little blurred due to the fever she had.
After a few failed attempts of sitting up she starts to crawl to the barred entrance of the cell. The chains around her wrists and ankles feel like anchors to her. It takes all of her strength to get there and when she does she collapses. She sticks her hand through the space between the wooden poles. “ Water.” She hoarsely asks.
She keeps her hands there opened, hoping someone will hear her. Again she cries out. “Water!” Still those outside of the cell ignore her going about their business quickly preparing for the ceremonial sacrifice.
Gripping onto one of the wooden poles now she manages to scream. “ WATER!” She slumps over, sweat dripping from her brow. Letting go of the wooden pole, she lowers her hands bringing them back to her chest holding onto the chains tightly.
She could hear the undead warlocks fighting among themselves, she presses her face against the poles to listen hoping for some new information.
“ Why do I have to be the one to do it?!” Hissed one of the warlock's followers.
“ Because the master's rogue has run off! We need her body cleaned and dressed properly for this ceremony. You know how he gets!” Snarls the undead from across the table.
“ FINE! Give me the damn garments!” The follower screeches opening his bony hands up as the other tosses him a set of black and purple robes.
The undead follower snarls a few more times before grabbing a water basin and filling it. He slings a washcloth and the robes over his shoulders then picks up the basin walking over to the cell. His glowing eye sockets stare at Nymaway, his rotting mouth forms into a scowl.
Nymaway looks up at him, she reaches for him whispering. “ Water.”
The follower kicks her hands. “ Keep your hands off of me! I am going to open this cell and you are going to clean yourself do you understand me?!”
He unlocks the cell door then flings it open stepping over Nymaway putting the water basin down next to her. “ You better be clean by the time I come back here!” He tosses the wash cloth at her then glares at her one more time before throwing the black and purple robes down next to her. “ When you are done you put that on!”
Slamming the cell shut he marches off mumbling something about how he isn't anyone's chamber maid.
The need for water fuels Nymaway to move to the basin. She trembles as she dips her hands into the water collecting it then bringing to her lips. The water soothes her dry mouth and throat. Again she dips her hands back into the water collecting more drinking once again. She does this multiple times until her thirst is satisfied.
She finally has the strength to sit up, she looks at the water basin then the wash cloth. “ Clean myself up?” Looking down at her side she winces slightly as she reaches down with her cuffed hands she tries to pull away the piece of bloodied tabard from the wound in her side. She cries out in pain. The fabric of the tabard stuck to the wound, pulling it away was excruciating and it reopened it slightly. Breathing heavily she finally removes the makeshift tabard bandage, she then dips the wash cloth into the water then presses it against the wound. Nymaway lets out another cry in pain as she pulls the cloth away. She tries the best she can to clean the area with what she has but in the end her efforts are useless. The wound had started to ooze blood and yellow puss.
Tossing the washcloth back into the basin she growls. “ Clean myself up for the master?” Her hands dig into the ground of the cell she then sticks her hands into the basin creating mud. She quickly smears it all over her face and the exposed parts of her body.
With a feverish grin on her face she moves back to the corner of her cell and patiently waits for the undead follower to return. However a familiar scent catches her nose, she tilts her head then whispers. “ Oddvar?”