Oran

Oran, my boyfriend's paladin as interpreted by us. A little backstory, if you plz!!!

Oran’s Journal

Arrogance is a folly ... something of which to be shameful ... and something I possessed in abundance. I thought I was smart; I thought I had it all figured out. I was wrong. I learned the hard way ... to offend the powerful is a fool's mistake. I now suffer the consequences of my arrogance and the actions that I did through my arrogance.

Mages ... what a myriad of power ... both benign and malevolent at the same time. I made the fateful mistake of insulting a mage by insulting his mage daughter as she attempted to flirt with me in a drunken stupor -- both of us. Gnomes have nasty tempers when provoked, even when the gnome's ugly ... less than ... the gnome's daughter's advances were unwanted. I could have been more subtle, more kind, more polite ... but I just laughed at her and compared her to the backside of my charger. Alchemical agents were thrown in my face, scarring me beyond the handsome man I had been ... and the elder mage's polymorph sealed my fate. He had subtly changed the spell ... that when the transformation into a pig wore off ... the pig's compulsive nature did not. Though I do my best to keep the gnawing in my gut at bay, the physical pain eventually gets too much for me to bear and I must eat my fill. I have kept myself from my people -- the proud and haughty Sin'dorei -- because of my infirmities. I have been humbled and I despair to ever find the comfort of a woman who can see past this penance I have been forced to endure.

I travel the roads of Azeroth alone, holing up each time the ravening hunger becomes too much for me to bear, and I exit more of a man than I had been before I went to ground. What fate does the Light hold for me? I fear it's a lonely one.

Oran cleaned his pen nib and stoppered the ink jar, waiting for the ink to dry on his journal. The inn he had found himself in was a small one, run by a female orc who was stingy with her lighting. It suited him well. He preferred to stay in dark corners, out of the sight of people who might see him. Unfortunately for him, a female blood elf also chose this particular inn to hunker down in for a meal. Like him, her eyesight in the dim light was twice as good as the other patrons and he could feel her eyes on him. When he had caught her, her fine lip curled into a sneer. Good, let her be repulsed by him. He didn’t need that kind of trouble anyway. He sighed softly. He might as well be a Kaldorei or human for all the socialization he had with his own people, or for other members of the Horde. A pain in his gut brought him out of his memories and back to the matter at hand. Ignoring the disgust of the female elf, Oran dined on the great feast he had ordered, making sure that his stomach was filled to capacity ... and perhaps a bit more. He lamented his curse, but he thanked the Light for being taught humility. He sighed again. His clothing was getting too tight, and the straps on his armor too short. He’d have to find a leatherworker and a blacksmith to make adjustments. He could add inserts to his breeches and tunics for a time, but after a while, the patches just wouldn’t hold. He stuffed down the last morsel of food, filled enough to be thoroughly miserable. He hated having to gorge like a starving orc, but what choice did he have? He pushed back from the table and rose, feeling like sausage stuffed into a casing, his leathers were so tight. Hitching his cloak’s cowl up over his head, he tossed a few silver coins on the table and stepped out into the light. He went around to the hitching post and untied his charger’s reins. The horse huffed as he swung into the saddle and Oran knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d need to swap the beast out for a sturdier, more heavy destrier. He nudged his horse into a canter, knowing that he’d have to let the beast blow periodically. He wanted to be as far from this inn as possible, and her disdaining eyes. He knew he’d repulsed her. Who wouldn’t be repulsed by him? He repulsed himself. He couldn’t let himself think about her. She had been too beautiful, even with the sneer that marred her honey-kissed skin. Her flaxen hair had shone like ice in the torchlight and her form was enviable by any female. But she was right to despise him. He was blighted, like the Forsaken, not fit for the masses. With a kick, he sent his warhorse into a gallop, determined to leave the road – and the ice angel – behind him.

Oelisse had been disgusted by the paladin who’d sat shrouded in the darkness of the inn. His appetite was more befitting an orc or ogre than one of her people. He was stuffing the food into his face like a hog feeding at a trough. Though the room had been dark, Oelisse’s eyesight was more than adequate to make out his features. Their gazes had met for a moment, then he let out a momentous belch. Oelisse turned away in disgust. “Look at him, Misty,” she said to the snowy-pelted wolf that lay at her feet. “Have you ever seen anything that disgusting that wasn’t a dwarf?”

Morningmist looked up at her mistress and whined softly.

Unable to stand the paladin’s noisy gorging, she stood and left the establishment. As she went around to the side to get her mount, she could hear him speaking softly through the thin walls of the inn.

“ ... I’ve heard about enough out of you!”

Who on Azeroth is he talking to?

“ ... be quiet! You’re embarrassing me!”

He must be crazy!

“ ... All right! You’ll get what you’re begging for ....” The sound of him eating came through the wall and she rolled her eyes. “There ... are you satisfied?”

How sad. How very, very sad.

Oelisse knew she needed to ride out to Ratchet. Her delivery had her headed to Booty Bay and she didn’t want to miss the ship across the ocean. Spurring her mount, she headed up to the Valley of Trials and to the secret path that led her and her mount that much closer to the goblin port. Fording the river and avoiding the crocolisks that nested there was about as adventuresome as her journey from Razor Hill to Ratchet got, and she was thankful. Even with the shortcut, it was nearing dark as she made her way to the inn in Ratchet, a nimble goblin youth coming to take her mount to the stable. She offered the grinning waif a silver coin and took her packs from her hawkstrider’s saddle. Misty followed her timidly into the inn. She spotted a nice table for one and crossed to the spot, dropping her packs on the back of the chair as Misty curled up beside the table. She’d be grateful for the soft, clean bed the goblins provided, though the luxury would cost her dearly. Ordering the special of the day – she’d learned early on in her travels not to ask what was in the special of the day – she sat back and waited for her food to come. The goblin brought her meal around and then hurried back to the entrance of the inn as a new patron stepped over the threshold. Oelisse gasped as she met the gaze of the paladin from earlier. He frowned slightly, spoke softly to the innkeeper and moved to a darkened table near the back of the room, far away from the other patrons who dined there. Something in his eyes troubled her. They weren’t the typical haughty eyes of the Sin’dorei. They were sad and humble. She watched as the innkeeper brought him a huge feast, and her ears caught a sound she never thought to hear in her lifetime – that man wept softly. She patted Misty’s head gently, then whispered in her ear. “Go find the elf. Go get him.”

Misty rose from her spot and padded down the length of the inn to where the paladin sat, eating as though on the brink of starving to death, but looking thoroughly miserable.

Oran blinked at the white wolf as it climbed up on the bench opposite him and sat down, whining softly. Its bushy tail wagged back and forth as it gazed beseechingly at him. “What do you want, dog? I can barely afford to feed myself, let alone someone else’s pet.”

It cocked its head to one side, letting its tongue loll out of its mouth. Oran couldn’t stand that look so he tossed the animal a bit of bread. “You’d do better going back to your owner, pup. You won’t find leftovers here.”

In response, Misty came around to the blood elf’s side of the bench, sat beside him and plopped her head in his lap, woofing softly. Oelisse took the opportunity to cross the space to the man, noting that though he ate a large quantity, he hated to do so. “I’m sorry if she’s bothering you. May I replace the food that she begged?”

The paladin sat silently, and Oelisse began to think him deaf or dumb. She repeated her phrase. “May I replace the food that my wolf begged from you?”

He shook his head in a quick no gesture, then went back to shoveling his food into his mouth as if she weren’t there. A little hurt and offended, Oelisse bowed stiffly and turned away from him while saying, “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Misty, come!”

The wolf whined and licked the man’s fingertips before placidly following her owner. I tried to be cordial, Oelisse thought to herself. It’s all I can do. She found her berth for the night and the two companions settled down for a night’s rest.

Oran watched the woman go, angry at himself for being unable to speak in her presence and angry at the terrible penance he’d been forced to bear. Leaning to one side, he fumbled for his armor buckles and unfastened them with a sigh. His stomach growled angrily and with sadness, he downed another order of the slop of the day. It was his fourth. He could barely believe the change in her attitude towards him from earlier in the day, not that it mattered. But it niggled at him: what could have changed her from that snooty ice princess to someone who spoke to him as a person?

“Pity, no doubt,” he said softly as his leathers groaned in protest. Sighing at the raw hunger still remaining in his stomach, he ordered two more portions from the innkeeper and waited miserably for them to arrive. With a grunt as his belt bit deeply into his belly, he bent over to retrieve his journal and inking set. He used a simple spell to create a light by which to see the book, uncorked the ink vial and dipped his quill into the ink.

I was doing well, staving off the hunger which caused such pains as to drive me to my knees, but as of late, the hunger comes stronger and more often. I had kept myself from gaining too much weight the past two years, but now, I’m finding it harder and harder to resist the need to gormandize. Where once I could go months or weeks without stuffing my gut as full as I could, the time has shortened to less than a week. The handiwork of this wretched curse is beginning to show more than ever. Light, have I not repented enough? Have I not paid my due? What do you have planned for me?

Oran looked up as a serving maid brought his food over. “You can set the food there, thank you.”

The female goblin nodded and put the two dishes on the edge of the table. Oran would eat it when he was done writing down his thoughts.

I’ve had to have my armor retooled four times already this year. Soon, I’ll have to replace the set completely. I look in the mirror on occasion and I barely recognize the man gazing back at me. The scarring to my face is not so noticeable now. Staying out of the sunlight was the right thing to do. The melted skin is like pale wax dripped on my face, only discernable when at close quarters ... which I don’t tend to let happen. No, the changes to my ever engorging body is what saddens me. My belly has grown in accordance to the food I’ve devoured and my chest ... my breasts are bigger than those of many females. My arms have thickened as have my legs, and fat has begun to accumulate beneath my arms. Who is this rotund man I find staring back at me? I am but eight and twenty years old. What will I look like when I am fifty? As a paladin, after A’dal’s sacrifice, I can’t just turn my back on the Light ... but what am I supposed to do? My hunger knows no end, my efforts to track down the gnome mage have brought me no success and I just keep getting fatter and fatter. Light send me some sign, some means to salvage this lonely trek I find myself on. Please ... answer this bowed and humbled paladin’s prayer.

Wiping the nib clean, Oran set his journal aside and ate the plates of food while the ink dried. He was miserably full when he rammed down the last large hunk of bread.

“There, are you happy, you miserable cur?” he whispered harshly at his stomach. “You’re not getting a morsel more!”

Wearily, he gathered his things and went around to the berth he’d rented for the night. Stowing his gear beneath the bed, he winced as he lowed himself to the bed, it creaking noisily under his weight. It groaned in protest, but held his bulk.


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