~There was the click of the goblin recording device and a clinkity clankity of armor in the background as Pip paced back and fourth~ I've been training to wield the sword and shield once more, to hold a sword in my hand and be deadly against ones foes instead of relying on the elements. When I became brain damaged and incapable of talking to the spirits my father sent me to berserker school in orgrimmar. He sent me out fully expecting me to die ether there or on the battle field. I never died.
Wielding the sword and shield once more.. and my trusty claymore reminded me about the rage that burns trough my veins, the absolute dedication one must have to ones life and decisions. To be a beserker is one of the most honorable and hard professions. Beserking not only changes your outlook on life but changes your decisions, things such as love making, oathing and love becomes deeper. It is not because one will randomly die one day due to the berserk within, but to feel a true berserk you need to give up everyting, everyone you need to be one with your weapon and only concentrate on your target. Nothing exists any more, not the calling out of retreat nothing it is a moment of clouded dedication to your own target.
I suppose that is why I love so deeply it hurts. I am destined to become burned by the own fire in my veins as it gives me more than enough joy and purpose.
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