Ok here is the whole thing re-formatted and added more of it.
“Uugghh.” He groaned, as he sat up in his bed, wait, a bed? He thought, “Aaarrrggghhh!” he roared. He picked up the bed with both hands and as he was going to throw it against the wall, he realized that he was in a tent, and he was smart enough to know that if he threw the bed, the whole tent would collapse. He walked outside of the tent and chucked the bed about thirty yards into a pile of huge rocks, it crashed into the rocks and broke into splinters. “That felt better,” he muttered, “I haven’t slept in a bed in centuries, only dirt floors, just like any of my men.” He looked around, “Oh no, my men!” he shouted. Suddenly, he was engulfed in pain, he collapsed, screaming, holding his head in his hands, as the memories poured in.
All the death, all the pain, all the suffering you caused, echoed a voice in his mind. He opened his eyes and saw a battlefield, a battlefield drenched in blood, the battle had taken place in a huge, but narrow gulley, thus the blood was about shin height, and limbs and heads were floating around in it. He saw one man standing alone in the gore-soaked ditch, the man was a huge muscle-bound savage, and as the man turned, Orayszheld realized he was staring at himself, only a few years ago. Orayszheld remembered this fight, it was the goriest, bloodiest, and most brutal fight of his long life. There were thousands dead on both sides. The elves of the deep fought surprisingly well for elves, who are known by the followers of the Blood God as cowards that just retreat and shoot, retreat and shoot, until their opponents were dead. But these, these were different. They fought directly in melee with the Blood Bound warriors, but in the end, as always, the Blood God was victorious, for even if his followers lost the battle, he would still have his fill of blood, because his followers would fight to the death. There is no retreat with the forces of Khorne.
As Orayszheld watched himself go to each and every body and slice off its head, he felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in, well, forever. “What is happening to me? Back at the tent, I would have thrown the bed no matter where I was, I would have immediately looked for a weapon, but no, I just stood there, vulnerable, out in the open, looking like an idiot. And now this feeling, what is it?” he was asking no one in particular, but his younger self turned as if he could hear Orayszheld’s questions. All of the sudden, his eyes glazed over, and a blue hint glowed from them, and he spoke, You have been cleansed, cleansed of your past failures, your butchery of thousands, your mutilation of hundreds, it has all been erased, you are now a vessel of good, a force against your former brothers-in-arms. About the bed, because you have been cleansed of some of your psychotic berserker rage, you had the time and patience enough to leave the tent and then execute your anger. We have not, however taken your tactical mind to grab a weapon, you were just confused. And the feeling? That is guilt, my friend, guilt for all your past wrongs. In short, we have made you a human again, instead of a savage marauder lusting for the next kill.
Orayszheld replied, “You said ‘we.’ Who is this we? And who are you?
I am lord Kroak, the slann that met you on the battlefield for the outskirts of Sunbane, and the we are all the other slann that helped turn you into what you are today.
“HELPED ME?! What do you mean, helped me? This is Horrible! I am – was – a follower of Khorne. I do not feel guilt. I was a lord of hundreds of thousands of men. The Chosen Sons of Khorne were the biggest, baddest, and most ruthless army in the Mortal Realms, rivaling even that of the Goretide. Now it’s gone! You ruined me!” his voice started wavering and he did something he had not done since he was a child, he sobbed.
That’s when he woke up.
“Ha ha ha! The infamous Orayszheld the ‘Butcher,’ crying like a little baby! Hilarious!” mocked a strange reptilian voice, different from the voice of Orayszheld’s memory. Immediately, he stood up from his kneeling position on the ground, and wiped his eyes, embarrassed. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I am your fre—frein—companion. I was made in the same way you were. I was just a generic skink until the slann summoned me.” he seemed lost in thought, “But that is a story for another time. I am Crek’Tlechtlul, a skink wizard, and another one of the band of warriors the slann seem to be creating. From what Kroak has told me, there seems to be one more of us, but he is a little bit delayed. So right now, it’s just you and me.”
“Just you and me eh?”
“Yes…”
Orayszheld grinned devilishly, “you seem like a nice enough guy, but,” he paused, “in order to regain my dignity, no one can see me in that state again and live to tell about it. So I’m sorry, but you have to die. Nothing personal. You understand.” With that, he charged Crek’Tlechtlul and grabbed the skink’s neck with his bare hand, which was about the size of Crek’Tlechtlul’s head. Crek’Tlechtlul struggled, and eventually moved one of the fingers off his throat just enough so he could speak, “Slann!” he yelled in a hoarse voice. Orayszheld screamed in anguish and chucked the skink as far as he could before his knees buckled and he toppled over, obviously in intense pain.
Crek’Tlechtlul recovered from that massive throw that slammed him against his own tent and crushed it. He was ecstatic, “It worked! It worked! Yes!” but then he saw Orayszheld’s condition and ran over to him. “Jeez buddy, you almost killed me. A second more and I would have been dead. I didn’t have time to explain this to you before you attacked, but you, and I’ve been told the other warrior as well, have a code word. If I say this word, you immediately stop what you are doing and convulse in agonizing pain. I am only supposed to use it if you attack each other or me or yourself. I didn’t think it would work.”
“I…Hate…You!” Orayszheld cried through gritted teeth. “One day, I vow, I will kill you.”
“Now don’t go psycho on me. We have a job to do. The pain will subside eventually.” Crek’Tlechtlul replied.
Orayszheld stood and growled, “Where do we have to go and what do we have to do. I should say I, not we, because you are so weak that if we come up against anything bigger than a Grot then I will have to do everything.”
“Yes, I am weak in combat, but you will come to appreciate the powers that the slann have given me.”
“Wait a minute.” Orayszheld said dangerously, “Are you a spellcaster?”
“Yes, I am, I know how your former kind feel about magic users, but you need to remember that you are no longer a follower of the Blood God.”
“Yes, I know, it is Unfortunate, for I would have liked to spill your blood as I cut out your eyes, then I would slice off your arms and legs to make it even more painful for you.”
Crek’Tlechtlul stared at him in horror, and muttered aloud, “Kroak was right. Khorne does make his followers into complete savages. We need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is the day we trek out of this canyon to begin our long journey to liberate a stronghold currently held by Chaos.” “Fine.” Orayszheld said with obvious defiance to taking orders from a weaker being than himself. My old life was so simple, where the strongest takes the lead. Now it is so confusing.
After getting some needed sleep from the ordeal the night before, Crek’Tlechtlul opened his eyes and sat up in his bed only to find Orayszheld’s sleeping form trembling on the floor of his tent, his skin singed and burnt horribly in some places. “What happened to you” Crek’Tlechtlul asked. And then he looked up to see the sun through a huge hole in his tent, which there wasn’t much left of.
“I tried to kill you in your sleep, but a heavenly voice uttered that cursed word and I got hit with a lightning bolt.” Orayszheld said as he woke up.
“Have you learned your lesson yet?” Crek’Tlechtlul scolded,
“Yes.” Orayszheld replied grudgingly,
“Good. Let us be on our way then.”
“Wait.” Orayszheld said, “I need a weapon.”
“Oh, right. Can you send it down please?” Crek’Tlechtlul asked the sky. A bolt of lightning hit the ground ten feet from where they were standing, and when the light faded, in its place lay a huge axe that looked to Orayszheld exactly like his old one. “Yes Orayszheld, it is the same one.” Crek’Tlechtlul said with a smile, like he was reading Orayszheld’s mind, “What you used for evil, the slann will for good.”
“Yeah whatever.” Orayszheld replied, distracted by the beauty of the weapon. Clean like it was never used. “All the blood and damage has been wiped clean. You can start anew.”
The next day they were travelling across a hilly plain, and Orayszheld, deep in thought didn’t notice Crek’Tlechtlul signaling him to halt. “Orayszheld!” he quietly yelled, “Stop!”
Finally, Orayszheld paused and looked down at him with a dazed expression “huh?”
“Get down you fool! Orks!” Crek chastised.
Orayszheld’s face immediately lit up, “Why didn’t you say so? Where?”
“Right over this hill.” Crek said as he gestured to the hill they were standing on.
“Well then what are we waiting for? BLOOD!” with that he charged down the hill into the three orks that waited at the bottom. Way back when, he could have slaughtered hundreds of thousands of orks without thinking, but something felt different, he felt weaker. The slann’s magic must have taken away Khorne’s gifts, he thought, Stupid toads! His axe felt good in his hands as he swept the legs out from under the first unfortunate ork to feel his wrath, Orayszheld barreled through that ork and into the next two, but the first stood up and surrounded him. “RAAARRRRGGG!!!!!” roared Orayszheld as he felt the bite of the ork’s greataxe in his back, but then the ork behind him roared in agonizing pain as a hole appeared where his stomach would have been, blue magical light bouncing off of his burned torso as he fell to the ground. “Maybe you are useful, wizard.” Orayszheld grunted as he focused on his remaining two opponents. Crek allowed himself a grim smile as he prepared another magical blast. As Orayszheld battled with the last orks and Crek casted another spell, another ork dropped dead, this time headless. The last ork looked frightened to see his comrades die in such horrible ways, but he steeled his nerve and focused on Orayszheld. Orayszheld was frustrated that the ork just would not die, but then he and the ork heard the whoosh of a weapon being thrown, and a trident imbedded into the ground next to the ork. Both combatants looked confusingly to the direction the trident came from to see an undead skeleton warrior in heavy armor, and wearing spiked boots marching towards them. The creature picked up his trident and charged the two, and now even Crek stopped concentrating on his spell to watch. The ork and Orayszheld just stood there dumbfounded as the skeleton reached them and impaled the ork. The ork groaned, but before it died the skeleton kicked it’s boot right into the ork’s privates. The ork’s death scream was horrifyingly high. Crek and even Orayszheld gasped in shock at the brutality the skeleton showed.
