Two Brothers: Merke and Auum

Sat down to write a simple character background for Merke and got carried into this. Wrote it at about 4am so /violin and forgive me for any typos / mistakes / crap writing I tried. Haven't decided exactly when this happens, but no more than a couple of years before WoW.


Merke was always very independant, keeping himself to himself and never really socialising with anyone. He lived in Ashenvale with his family, which consisted of his parents and his older brother, Auum. His parents were Keepers for the area, tending to the balance of nature by watching over food chains, creature populations and the state of the soil. From a young age, they had tried to interest their two sons in their line of work; both of which showed little interest. Merke idolised his brother; barely an experienced adult in the eyes of an Elf but he was quickly ascending the ranks of Ravenholdt, proving himself to be a very gifted rogue who had the potential for greatness. The years passed and Merke, in the foot-steps of his brother Auum, signed up to the Ravenholdt Rogues and learned the basic skills he still uses today, much to the dissapointment of his parents. It was an arguement over this subject that drove him from the Family Home, opting to live, train and learn at the academy with his brother.

The months flew by and Merke seldom thought of home. His training here was his life. Every day, his brother and he would duel, or fish, or run, or hunt together. The only time when they were apart was when they were sleeping or Auum was asked to join a meeting for only the ears of the most senior Rogues. Merke himself was under the gaze of one or two of these, his skills in stealth, tracking, lockpicking and blade-wielding standing out amongst the crowd of trainees. His brother told him countless times it would not be long until Merke himself attained a higher rank within Ravenholdt. He told him it on the day of his death.

The morning was sharp and cold, the air feeling fresh in the lungs and the grass crunching underfoot with the morning frost. They met, as they dd every three days, at sunrise, standing together to watch the light fill the sky and listen to the bird song. Both rogues wore their dark leather armour and two long daggers sheathedd at the waist. Auum had a longer sword in a back-sheathe while Merke sported a baldric of throwing knives. With the majestic sunrise behind them, they set off down the hill at an easy pace, warming their muscles and waking themselves fully from slumber. Quickly they began to chatter about the events of the day before, a discussion about a trapped lockbox and, as they trudged through the snowy fields of the Alterac Mountains, how long it would be until Merkes skill was recognised. Two brothers out jogging, enjoying the company of the other and the opportunity to discuss the life they loved. It was almost the same as every other day they went for a run. Almost.

As they reached their usual turn around point at the board of the Mountains to the Plaguelands, the morning was no longer peaceful, no longer friendly and no longer majestic. The silence was thick and threatening, seemingly seeking to smother thw Two Brothers. It gave a feeling of being locked away. Surrounded. Enclosed. Then the silence was gone. The explosion of a fireball smashing into its target screamed out across the mountains, quickly followed by paniced shouts and yells. The brothers looked at eachother, nodded once, and quickly moved beyond the boarder into the lands of the Undead, their weapons already in their grasp.

What happened next shot past in a blur, it all happened so fast. The Rogues had come across a scouting party of Humans, two of which were already oozing their life on the dead earth. The remaining four fought desperately against the Undead threat, their armour flashing blood red, catching the light from the rising sun as they swung theur swirds thriugh bone and rotting flesh. Ahead of them were around twenty walking corpses, bearing down on the humans and pressing in on them. The time for action was now. Merke raced left, Auum right, flanking the zombies and slicing in from each side of their advance. Merke tensed his grip on his daggers and spun. the spray of flesh and bone taking flight as his dagger slashed through the neck of his first target, his other dagger already on a different course, punching out to pierce through the eye of the second. He span and flipped like a dancer, the blades licking out to take down the foe and he knew the other side of the mass his brother was using a similar technique. Shouts went up from one of the Humans and they stopped retreatong, instead pushing forward to join the assault. It was over in a matter of seconds, the corpses being corpses once more. Merke brushed himself down and turned to face his brother, half a grin on his face when he saw Auum face down unmoving. Forgetting his own blades he threw them aside and rushed to his brother, calling his name as he went. He steeled himself against what he was about to see and quickly rolled his brother over to find life in his eyes and a laugh on his lips.

Seriously, brother. Not damn funny.
Well, I'm laughing!

With them both on their feet, Merke punched his brother playfully on the arm, and head back to retrieve his daggers, wiping off the more solid pieces of gore from the blades. He turned to see the disbelief on his brothers face and the fear in his eyes as the Claymore was driven through his chest, the tip appearing through the armour on his back. As if in slow motion, Merke bare witness to the death of his family, his brother, his idol, and heard the cackle of the Crusader in his white and red tabard, almost as if from a distance. His world, his life was gone, stolen from him after everything seemed well. His eyes misted and he could hear the voice of his brother as if it whispered wiith the breeze. Merke stood, motionless, barely even aware that the Crusader had drawn a short-sword and was advancing on him slowly. Images from his past flickered in front of his eyes and he saw the two of them training, laughing, jesting and, finally, watching the sunrise together on this day of days.

Any last words, long-ears?

Merkes snapped into focus, the Human was yards away now, weapon drawn and ready.

Just one, Human.

His daggers were sheathed at his side, no time to wield them.

Do share it.

The red mist descended over his vision. He glared into the eyes of the Murderer, a hatred consuming him, fueling his need for revenge.

Die.

Merkes hand flashed out at alarming speed, his fingers hooking around the front of his enemies neck. With a roar of rage, he ripped out his Adams Apple and kicked his boot into his chest, sending the Crusader sprawling backwards into the corpses of the Undead. Stepping over him, Merke slapped aside the next blade with his left hand as his right pulled clear one of the throwing knives on his chest. Reversing it, he thrust it into the eye of the woman and pushed her away from him. Not stopping, he turned and moved slowly towards the other two who had backed away, blades unsheathed and at the ready. Ducking under the swing of the two-hander, he lashed out with his foot, catching the third crusader on the ankle and sending him to the dust. Instantly Merke was upon him, his thumbs pressed deep into the squirming humans eyesockets. Merke cast about for the fourth, and spotted the Scarlet fleeing West. There would be time, a long time, to kill that final Scarlet, to enact revenge upon their Cathedrals and to burn their Monastaries to the ground. But first.

Kneeling down, he brushed the hair from his Brothers face, kissed his forehead and lifted him into his arms for the long walk back to Ravenholdt.