[IC]The Search for Jonathan Strange

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. It is with great pleasure that I announce that a very old tale is returning. The Search For Jonathan Strange is returning at long last! It is a story of love, hate, necrophilia and massive retardation. Many people which you know may appear, and many others which you don't. I would also like to add that at the time of these texts, the people who own the characters in these tales had given me permission to use them. With some I don't really get along with anymore, and thus things will be arranged accordingly! I would also like to thank the people I pestered over msn to help me recover the first Chapter! Couldn't have done it without you guys!

So yeah! Mindgraine and Shrogan proudly bring you... THE SEARCH FOR JONATHAN STRANGE!

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The night advances as the several figures and beacons of might argue atop the violet citadel.
“You must see that clearly the only option which we have left to fight the Scourge is to unite!” Rhonin to the people assembled. Thrall stands up to speak, but is immediately cut off by King Varian “Xenophobe” Wrynn.
“We shall never side with those savages! Those green skinned beasts will stab us in the back when they have no more use for us.” A caring and gentle hand, creepily, softly, lovingly lands on Wrynn’s shoulder. Highlord Tirion Fordring speaks with a soft voice.
“Please, King, would you calm down? The Light asks of us that we sit and listen to each other. In its warm embrace, we should honor its request.” He smiles with a hardened and tired look and yet the dreamy eyes of a child. On a corner, an undead, the luggage boy thinks.
“I’ve always thought there was something creepy about that guy.” But nonetheless he finds his attitude compelling.
Saurfang, he who rides on a crocolisk, steps forth.
“The Warchief would never dishonor the agreements and pacts sealed, in such a way. That is a gift of the humans!”
Thrall’s massive hand turns into a fist, and holds it in front of Saurfang’s face.
“That is enough, old friend.” And here he stands. “The Horde has assembled it’s council of rulers and we have agreed to listen to your proposal, human.”

“Quite civilized they seem to be for Orcs.” The dead luggage carrier thinks, uttering in a low tone. Tirion Fordring looks at him with a dazzling smile and he shudders in a corner. But yet again, he finds this attitude somewhat… interesting.
Sylvanas’ eyes dart from the undead luggage carrier to the Highlord of the Crusade. For some odd reason, she seems somewhat worried. We shall never know why, but we can guess.
The Light’s Prophet Velen follows Tirion’s example and speaks a few soft words to calm down the King with a temper.
The Priestess of the Moon cannot help but to look at the Lor’Themmar and one could’ve sworn that there was a spark when their eyes met.
The Tauren Chieftain, Cairne Bloodhoof could not help but to feel envious of the prodigal beard of King Bronzebeard. Perhaps the name could have something to do with it. And immediately, he sent a runner to Undermine for he desire a barbershop to be opened in the plains of Mulgore, where the grass is green and the wind blows softly… and the grass… the delicious grass… everywhere… grass…

As for Vol’jin, he could not help but to be amused by the short stature of the High Tinkerer. It reminded him of the voodoo dolls with which he delighted himself in secrecy, but most of all, he was reminded that he had skipped lunch.
On a corner, a fourth was also present. Emperor Tziak, stabbed himself eagerly, wantonly, as if there was no tomorrow and no blood left to spill. Howling, hissing uncontrollably, unaware of the odd looks which he was being given. He looks to the High Priest and snarls a few commands in Troll.
“’Dah’ Emprah’ be requestin’ ya’ ta’ be givin’ ‘im sum’ moar time. ‘Im be finishin’ a blessin’ and uhm… er… please continue. ‘Dah’ Empyah’ ‘as decided ‘dat it will listen to ya’ proposition.” And with a concerned look he turns to Tziak.
“WHAT?! I’M ALMOST FINISHING!” He says, although none of the present save Vol’Jin and Shro’gan would’ve understood. Vol’Jin simply looks away, his eyes widened.

Morgraine, the Highlord of the Ebon Hold sits, chain smoking carelessly.
“We shall dispatch our best men. And women. And children if the dead can have such things. But we cannot. Which is a shame. They are somewhat cute. I still remember Children’s week. I want to have one… I shall abduct them on my way out.” And with these words, he begins rocking slowly in his chair. The horrified looks of the present dart away from him to every corner of the room.
Rhonin, who’s patience is not eternal, but pretty damn close to put with all this, slams his fist on the table.
“We must act! Dispatching an army would be nothing but feeding the Lich King’s numbers! We need to find a solution to the Lich King! And for this, we have dug information of an old and powerful being. He is elusive, but we have confirmed his existence. We have dubbed him… Jonathan Strange.”

“What a strange name.” Mutters the luggage carrier. The people assembled in the room fall into a somewhat awkward silence and look at him. Tirion smiles comfortingly and the undead moves further against the wall.
“You are saying that this being is our only hope? That no warrior of the Alliance or the Horde can ever expect to beat him? That he is the key to defeat the Lich King? That him alone has the power to bring hope to the people? That it would take the power of this Strange being alone to stop the Maelstrom?! That he has drank from the fountain of knowledge and fed on the roots of the world?! That he alone has the power to defeat Hogger and Gamon at the same time?!” The luggage carrier utters, clearly amazed.
“Well… I don’t know about that fountain, nor does the world has roots since I last checked but… that’s pretty much it. He is truly our best chance.” Rhonin speaks.
“He must know the location of the Pancreas.” He rubs his chin, smirking to himself.
“We should elect a selected few, our best men, and organize search parties to search all over the world for this elusive being. Only he can stop the Lich King.”

Tziak stands, surprisingly he bleeds no more, but pants heavily. His void black eyes shine from behind his mask as he speaks, his tone clearly a sceptic and bitter one. Shro’gan, the High Priest of the Gurubashi Empire translates.
“So, ya’ be sayin’ ya’ be selectin’ owah’ best men, withdrawin’ ‘em from ‘dah’ battlefront, throw ‘em in a wil’ goose chase fo’ a legendary bein’ w’ich we are no’ even certain o’ its existence, and even if we be findin’ ‘em, ‘dere be no guarantee ‘dat ‘im will ‘elp us, an’ even if ‘e does, ‘e can destroy us all?”
An uncomfortable silence falls in the room. Tirion speaks, his smile shining somewhat. “I believe that this being, should he exist, will be able to help us. For I believe, as the Light does, in redemption and good will amongst men.” And everyone has a distinct feeling that if he were any holier, he would sparkle. A collective shiver is felt.
“That is the plan, gentlemen and Ladies.” Rhonin smiles.
“’Eet be soundin’ reasonable ‘nuff.” Shro’gan shrugs looking at the Emperor who seems much more concerned about stabbing his own thigh than the actual discussion. He turns back to the assembly “’Dah’ Empyah’ be supportive of ‘dah’ initiative.”

People grunt, huff, heave but finally they agree to the plan.
“Tomorrow then, we shall assemble our finest men! And women!”
“And children!” All eyes are set on Morgraine. “What? I’m dead! I don’t care about your silent judgement!”
“Right. Gentlemen, we assemble at the Violet Stand. I will allow the luggage boy to show you the way out.” But for some reason, the room erupted with portals and other things, and he was left alone. With Tirion. Screams are heard in the distance, and the undead is seen, running away from the tower. Inside, Tirion sits, with a pleasant smile lingering on his lips.

Repost of the brilliant story, looking forward to more, MORE, MOAAAAAAAAR!

The Priestess of the Moon cannot help but to look at the Lor’Themmar and one could’ve sworn that there was a spark when their eyes met.

._.

Mindgraine&Shro: *trollface*

Good'one!


Tirion's a nasty feller, D;

Post the rest, post the next! I cum a little everytime I read my own name in them :3

Archal/Hazrah/Vaneyk wrote:Post the rest, post the next! I cum a little everytime I read my own name in them :3

This to be honest.

Shrogan, you owe me a pair of underwear, I jizzed so much these ones are unusable.

Awesome \o/

Also, will they run into a Mr Norell while hunting Strange?

We shall see! No one knows, now, do they?

We will drive a Prius, right?

Or at least a horse named Prius :<

A Celestial Horse named Prius, where all of our heroes will be pilled upon and sparkle their way through.

Well this time I've read it ...... *nods in approval* More please!!

Shro agreed, some unamed people claims they have found mr. Strange.
I managed to get my hands on to a picture recently taken.

Behold!

Spoiler:

Aaaaaaaand this is yet another bump! The Search continues!

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And so it came to pass that they gathered at the Violet Stand. From the lingering mist, several parties arrived. The Leaders gathered to discuss their ideas once more. Our heroes are left for a moment on their own.
“Ah’ be seein’ ‘dere be no’ ‘dat many ‘ere.” Shro’gan mutters, looking around himself to the people assembled. From the Blood Elves, three had come. From the Night Elves, one person alone. From the Tauren, merely one yet again. The Orcs had brought two. And from the Ebon Hold, one as well. Shro’gan rubbed his chin and looked back to Teeru and Chakuya and mutters in Troll.
“This looks promising.” But Teeru alas, seems to be already busy, attempting to his use his beast taming skill on a tree log as it looks like a crocolisk’s back. It is super effective! Teeru throws it an object resembling a red and white sphere. Odd looks all around and nothing happens.

“I can’t believe Lor’Themar will have us side with the Gurubashi! This is so idiotic! How?!” Nathinios strides around the Stand, with his arms behind his back as if they were tied. “Captain, please, you will see that they will fail this quest. They will die before all is over.” Atare, the female Farstrider speaks, softly, trying to calm down the Captain. On a corner, under a Silvermoon banner, Archal sits, looking at his palms.
“It would be awesome if Warlocks could control fire.” And in that precise moment, such is the will, so hard is his wish, that his hand ignites mightily and burns not only his hair, but the Silvermoon banner under which he sat. Looking solemnly at the two Elves looking at him, he tilts his head to the side. They take the palm of their hands to their faces for Archal had only then, discovered the Destruction tree. All hail Silvermoon’s finest.

In the Night Elven corner, under a banner as well, sits… no one. The Elf which had sat in there seems to have faded from sight “Cowards.” Shro’gan mutters in Troll once more.

Leaning against a tree, not hugging it, not munching it, just leaning against it, as if it were a good friend of old, as if it was some long forgotten, delightful lover, Zalgradis, the Tauren representative lies. He sees many things which we do not. He is, one with the nature, one with the Spirits. From his pocket, a rather long pipe, a twin pipe actually can be seen. He smiles, confident and hums slightly. It is seemingly… a moo. His reddened eyes, resembling that of a maddened ox, dart to the Night elven stand. What seems to be a silent snarl, turns slowly into a pleasant smile. He clearly is far beyond reach right now.
“Remind me to discuss a mixture with the Cattle…” Shro’gan whispers to Chakuya.

Sitting in silence save for the constant grunting which they puff and heave, two Orcs, a male and a female look at each other, solemnly. One would say that they wait for the chance to unleash the blood rage which Orcs are often known for.
On the Ebon Hold’s corner another Elf lies, with blue, glowing eyes. It seems to reach for something in a bag, take it to her mouth and munch it. The eyes glow a deep blue. One is not sure of the origin of the spice it chews. Certain it is however, that she seems to be foaming slightly. One wonders where do the fluids come from, in the dead. Strangely enough, she seems to have several long, round, robust peni----maggots of course, following her.

From all the other factions, there is no one. Not yet at least.
Suddenly, a scream is heard in the distance. Atare falls, face first on the floor, behind her, a grinning Night Elf fades from sight. “TREACHERY!” Screams the Captain of the Blood Guard! Archal stands and, with his newfound enlightenment he begins conjuring a ball of fire. “It would be awesome if this ball of fire had ICE!” And picking up the ice cubes from the conveniently placed drink, he wets himself as they melt and throws it to the Trolls anyway. Shro’gan looks indignantly, staring in disbelief, spitting to his side as he is violently burnt from Archal’s attack. His jaws distort into a violent expression of disapproval. Chakuya picks up his massive sword and charges forward, determined, vicious, only to realize that he’s been running in the wrong direction. Spinning over his own self, he leaps towards the confront and cleaves his target in half. Incidentally his target turns out to be the tree log which Teeru had been trying to tame. He howls in outrage and riding his dead, pet, creature thing, made of wood, he moves no further, but fires three certain arrows, which turn out not to be certain at all, and missing the Elves, provoke the Orcs into the fray.

Cyaska picks up her rather oversized mace, and reaching for some more of that delicious, delicious spice, she charges forward, slitting her own wrists in the armour which she bears.
“THE BLOOD MUST FLOW!” She howls, swinging her mace everywhere. Foaming, munching furiously the sandy spice. Again, her eyes glow.

Growling menacingly Saurfang comes mounted on his crocolisk. The luggage boy, that joyful corpse who was inspecting this great Orc’s mount is dragged along. He has two suitcases, made of leather with a yellowish leather, presumably one would be reminded of a crocolisk.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”
The luggage carrier turns to the Green Menace with a most serious expression. Clearly he had achieved the answer to Saurfang’s enquiry.
“This clearly is the meeting point. The Violent Stand.” Then he grins
Outraged, enraged by the corpse’s reply, he raises his mighty fist and punches him, sending his lower jaw flying through brawl field.

“I’M HIT!” A shriek is heard and the tree is let go by the caressing Tauren. It has clearly seen more love than it wished. Fuming from his nostrils, his prodigal beard seems to have a rotting jaw dangling from it. He picks up two axes, and pursues the Lights and bright colors which move rather confusingly into battle. Nonetheless he attempts to hack them furiously.

The luggage boy, which had nothing else to loose, waves the luggage frantically and joins the fray. The leather protecting him from Archal’s incinerations and the likes. Spinning furiously, he hits the Elf in the head, knocking it out of its misery. Looking down at it, he immediately shaves his eyebrows with a slight bit of fire and hops away thinking to himself. “It’s a shame, such a shame…”

Suddenly, one of the suitcases bursts open. The Night Elf grins to him. He looks around himself, in disbelief, more enraged than it is possible to ever conceive. On his mind, only a few thoughts can be readable.
“Why… the loss is irreplaceable… how dare she? How dare she unpack, destroy even such perfectly packed clothing?! DOES A MORTAL’S CRUELTY HAVE NO END?!” And glaring at the underwear, bras and panties scattered around himself, he launches a bolt of pure shadow energy at the rogue who, enveloped in shadows, fades from sight.

The battle goes on and on for what seems to be an eternity. However, it only lasts really a few more minutes more, before they are frozen in place by Rhonin, but in reality frozen by fear of Tirion’s delightful smile. “Please, the Champions which the Light has brought together, should not waste their energies like this. Please, take your rightful place by your banners.”
Hurt and limping, but moved by an unknown strength, which we can dub fear of Tirion, the Champions move to their rightful locations.

Still staring at the fighters in disbelief and indignation, the great leaders move near their representatives. Zalgradis too, seems to have descended to this plane of consciousness.

“We have noticed the lack of several representatives. Seemingly, they are currently away on their own missions, and will join you later as reinforcements.” He observes.

“Very well, noted. When do we leave?” Nathinios says as he tends to Atare who had been forgotten during the clash.
“As soon as you gather.” Tirion smiles.

Shro’gan leads the Gurubashi convoy towards the center of the Stand. The luggage boy follows him and accidently, or was it, drops the luggage on his toe. The High Priest glares at the undead and snarls.
“What? Should this not be a Holy experience? Can you not stand up for the fables and turn pain into pleasure?! Can you not agree that the Pancreas, given its elongated shape and yellow color, is in fact a meaty banana?!” He shouts at the Troll, backing away.
He sighs, but smirks.
“Er… Uhm… Right. Be removin’ da’ t’in’ frum ma’ toe.” He looks at him. “Very well, right away High Priestess.” He says, clearly confused by the Troll’s racial gender.
“Ya’ know? Ah’ be likin’ ya’ ta’ sum’ exten’. Ya’ be a defian’ one. Wha’ be ya’ name?”

“Mindgraine.”
“Someone called?” Morgraine appears, from a crate, stuffed with children catalogs from Dalaran’s clothing shop. Children’s week promotions, all of them.
“MINDGRAINE! NOT MORGRAINE!” The undead shouts. But deep down inside he can not help to think that there must be a blood link. With teary eyes, past the initial shock, he looks at him with teary eyes and moves in to hug him. “Father?”
“Wait… I son? No. No. I have no kids.” And he lowers his head with a sigh. “I wish I did though…” He mutters after the long pause.
Cyaska coughs, munching on some spice still. Her eyes are by now, two lanterns bobbing as she moves.

There is a collective sigh heard and the people gather. Atare is still unconscious. Zalgradis has only just sobered entirely. Archal attempts to reignite his fire, but failing entirely. He blames it on the cold. He focus again once more, he focuses harder, he grits his teeth, he turns his hand into a fist. He feels the blood pulsate on the back of his head. Suddenly, screams are heard from above. Looking up, they see Dalaran up in flames. “Er… we should leave.”
“One up you Ogre’s mother.” Mindgraine grins, pointing at it.

“JUST GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” Rhonin howls, and no one moves, clearly not taking the most patient being in the gathering seriously enough.

“Ah’ be ‘avin’ a request, Ladeh’ Sylvanas. We be takin’ Mindgraine as a representative o’ ‘dah’ Forsaken.” Shro’gan smirks.
“Wait, who?” She looks at him and then to the corpse. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” And looks away waving her hand dismissively.
“Goo’!” He grins. “We be leavin’ soon ‘den.” And as he finishes this sentence, the High Priest notices Tirion by his side. He leans over to the Troll and whispers.
“Long tusks you have.”
“WE BE LEAVIN’ NOW!”

And walking off into Crystalsong forest, followed by the marching heroes, they fade from sight. Mindgraine, who seemingly had been meditation the past few seconds, if he does have that capacity, approaches Shro’gan, with a deep red piece of cloth with lace garments.
“Whose panties are these?”

<3

A bump for moar coments and criticism before the next chapter be posted up!

Want criticism? PUT UP SOMETHING NEW ALREADY! ;P

Chapter 1 - The Gathering at the Violent Stand

It wasn't your finest piece for sure, I've seen you write loads better in the past but boy am I glad you stopped using "then" so much - haha! ;) And like Nayan said, post something new already!

Goddamit, I know you, but I can't recall from where! >_<

It's Ana'sutra, silly! I haven't been active in about a month or so, so that's probably why you've forgotten me (:(! haha): I've been super busy with loads of stuff in real life.

Shaelyssa wrote:It's Ana'sutra, silly!

I totally misread that..And hai Alulol xDDD

I prefer "Big Al'", thank you very much! ;) Haha! Hi there :).

But yes, back on topic! Don't keep us waiting too long Shrogan!

Shaelyssa wrote:I prefer "Big Al'", thank you very much! Haha! Hi there .

But yes, back on topic! Don't keep us waiting too long Shrogan!

Cif Halek, ya habibti? Should have known its you, long time no see .

Anyway, read them once more Shrogan. Can't wait for the new ones.