Vilmah
06-04-2006, 08:57 PM
((Open RP, by the way. :D ))
Vilmah ran through the Arathi Highlands, ready to fight for the Horde. She heard that the battles that were raging in the Arathi Basin were hard, and victory was rare. Realizing the necessity of gaining resources for the Horde, she was quick to sign up, and went in search of gaining both honor and standing. The road through Arathi, however, was paved with disaster.
“Why do they keep following me??” She said to herself, panting furiously as she ran from several mounted members of the Alliance. One of them, a paladin, lept from his horse and sprung into action.
[“Have at ye, green one!”] He shouted.
“What the heck are you saying??” Vilmah said as she frantically tried to fend off his advances.
Although her warrior skills had been steadily gaining, Vilmah’s strength was far less than the well seasoned paladin she new faced. Dodging a swing from his gigantic hammer to her face, she rolled forward and swung her giant axe upwards towards her enemy. He easily dodged it, and proceeded to channel the Light with a spell that Vilmah instantly recognized.
“Oh no… not--”
[“Let the Hammer of Justice take thee!”] Shouted the Paladin, slamming his hammer into Vilmah’s chest.
She let out an “Oof!” as her limp body flew several feet, and she landed in a groggy heap, unable to gain control of her senses. “What… what happened, ooof!!”
One of the paladin’s friend, a night elf druid, smacked Vilmah across the face with the paw of her bear form. Falling down on the grass, the three members of the alliance congratulated one another on a job well done, and left her there to bleed.
Several hours later, Vilmah awoke to the sounds of a struggle. “Huh?” She looked up to see a member of the Forsaken, fighting back a raptor with his warlock magic. An imp hurled fireballs, until the raptor fell down dead. “Hey there! D’you know how to get to Hammerfall?”
“It’s just up the hill,” replied the Forsaken, with a wave. “Be careful! These animals are treacherous.”
Vilmah waved back. “Thanks! What a nice guy…”
Wandering up the hill, Vilmah’s head continued to throb from her earlier attacks. The injury felt very close to the one she felt only weeks ago, when half of her face was black and blue from a concussion. Walking into Hammerfall however, made her feel as if the pain could vanish in an instant. As if she were a book, a page was turned to her past, and she somehow remembered.
“…is this…..?”
“This be Hammerfall, little orc,” said a troll in front of her. He gave a friendly bow. “Ah be Tor’gan, shaman to dis here outpost. Who you be?”
“Oh!” Vilmah returned the salute. “I’m Vilmah Bloodborne, Grunt for the Horde. I came her to help with the battles in the Arathi Basin.”
“Ya looked a little surprised when ya came in. Dere anytin’ wrong?”
She shook her head. “No. Actually… this place felt familiar.”
“Well, if ya be wantin’ at helt wit’ da war effort, ya can go up dem stairs to da right an’ walk past da windrider.”
“Thanks!”
Vilmah gave Tor’gan a salute, and left him. Approaching the stairs, she caught sight of something that made her stop dead in her tracks; cages. Huge cages that could fit men, or even an
“Orc?”
Vilmah jumped as someone addressed her. “Huh?”
“You look familiar,” said an older man, standing by the cages. He looked battle scarred and weary, gray hair in braids draped about his chest and shoulders. “Who are you?”
Studying him, Vilmah slowly walked towards the warrior. “My name is Vilmah, sir. Vilmah Bloodborne.”
The old orc’s eyes widened only slightly, when he heard the name. Looking her over, he took in her appearance. Small and soft, she had little muscle, but an ample chest. Her eyes were a dark hazel color, and she wore a long thick black ponytail. He noticed that her skin color had a brown hue, not so very unlike his own. “…Bloodborne, you say?”
“Well, yes sir,” she replied with a nod. “Vilmah Bloodborne, Grunt for the Horde. I’m a member of the group known as Sanctuary, sir, here to help with the war effort in the Arathi Basin. May I ask for your name?”
There was a pause. “Gor’mul. I am Gor’mul. Vilmah, do you know of this place?”
“I…” Vilmah turned and looked around. There was a familiarity here she couldn’t deny, but the reason behind it simply wasn’t there. “Sir, I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like I’ve been here before. What was this place?”
Gor’mul’s head hung low. “A terrible place,” he said quietly. “A place where the humans imprisoned our mighty race, and made us slothful and weak. Weak until the Warchief’s arrival, child. Now we have claimed this place for ourselves. For the Horde. Are you… a warrior?”
Vilmah nodded. “Oh yes, sir! I’m a warrior.”
“Of course, you are…” Gor’mul muttered. “Where do you come from? Do you know of your ancestry? Your heritage? Your birthright?”
Vilmah looked at him curiously. “Well, uh, I guess not… y’see, I was born in a place…” She looked around again. “…like this. Then Thrall came. Because my parents were killed, I was raised by matrons in a small village in Durotar, to become a warrior.”
“Killed??” Gor’mul said, his temper flaring. “Killed?! …yes, of course. Your parents, they were… do you remember them?”
She shook her head. “Uhm, not really sir. Actually, though, I remember that the humans were quite nice to me, and my parents didn’t like that they were teaching me things, and--”
“Teaching you what? To become like them? Like a human? You’re lucky that the humans had their skulls broken when the Warchief arrived,” Gor’mul growled. “They were monsters, attempting to conform us to their ways. Attempting to steal our very children.”
Vilmah looked at Gor’mul, his face lined with worries, every crack and wrinkle a tribute to the pain he suffered through. “…sir? If I may ask, did you have children?”
Gor’mul looked away. “If I did, they are gone now. If I did…” He looked up at Vilmah. “I would hope that they are proud warriors for the Horde, who fight for it with all of their soul. I would hope they are smart, and skilled. Tell me, Vilmah. How old are you?”
“Uhm…” She thought back. “Well… I guess… I started training when I was fifteen years old… and time has flown by, since then, so I’m not so sure about my age, but I can’t be much older.”
The old orc nodded. “I see. Well… Vilmah, be careful in the Basin. The Alliance fight without honor, and without mercy. I can see already that they have executed their wrath upon you,” he said, indicating the swollen bruise on her skull.
“Oh, this? Yeah… three of them, outside of Hammerfall.”
Gor’mul shook his head. “Disgusting… That‘s what they are, Vilmah. They are disgusting creatures with no value for life. I learned that a value for one‘s life is a precious thing, indeed. Earlier, a young rogue helped me to discover that.”
“Oh, who was he sir? What did he do?”
“I believe his name was Nojinbu,” said Gor’mul, scratching his chin. “He and some other soldiers of the Horde have given me more of these Raptor Talismans than I can count, but they are appreciated.”
Vilmah’s eyes brightened. “Nojinbu? Oh, wow! He’s a member of Sanctuary, as well! He’s a fantastic rogue, really. A wonderful, great and strong… valiant and full of honor, he’s the best, he really--”
“Wait wait wait,” Gor’mul looked at Vilmah with a curious, although slightly worried expression. “Perhaps I’m mistaken, but are you… no, that’s impossible.”
“What?”
“Do you… have feelings for this troll?”
Vilmah giggled and blushed, looking away. “Oh, Nojinbu is very sweet. He and I both enjoy each other’s company, so. He saved me from so many things, even an older warrior who tried to… well, you know--”
“No, I most certainly do not know!” Gor’mul said with rage. “Are you telling me that there have been members of the Horde who have tried to take physical advantage of you??!”
Vilmah looked around, and came closer to him. “Sir, actually, that’s been a bit of a trend. The one Nojinbu saved me from was the second person to try it, and well, I’m lucky to have had very good friends, because before now I was never very good at fighting.”
“I don’t like this Nojinbu,” Gor’mul growled.
“Oh, but he’s so very sweet to me! He hasn’t even tried to touch me, not the way the others did anyway,” she added quickly. “He’s very gentlemanly. The other night, he even gave me my very first kiss, and--”
“Alright alright,” Gor’mul said, waving his hand. “That’s enough of that. Heed my advice, child. Beware of rogues, and especially trolls. They may be our allies, but I would not trust one with m--… with you.”
Vilmah nodded, and check the sun. “Oh, wow. You know, I was supposed to be at a party tonight. With the Nether Council,” she added, checking her pockets for gold. “Maybe I should fly to Undercity and take the Zepplin to Orgrimmar, then take a wind rider to…” Without finishing her sentence, Vilmah began to sway back and fourth. “Woah… woah, I feel kinda… kinda funny.”
Gor’mul rushed forward, and held her stead in his arms. “What is it? What’s wrong??”
“My head feels kind of… oh, no..”
Vilmah’s hands twitched as she fell unconscious. Gor’mul looked down in shock, and ran towards the house to his left. Inside, an undead man stood bored beside a row of cots. He looked at the two orcs with surprise. “I see I am needed?”
“Do something!” Gor’mul roared, lying Vilmah down in one of the cots.
The undead gave a chuckle. “Of course, of course. Lets check her head first, shall we?”
Reaching for a tray of tools, the undead went to work on Vilmah. In the corner, Gor’mul stood watching. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, until he realized that he was digging into his own skin with his nails.
Vilmah ran through the Arathi Highlands, ready to fight for the Horde. She heard that the battles that were raging in the Arathi Basin were hard, and victory was rare. Realizing the necessity of gaining resources for the Horde, she was quick to sign up, and went in search of gaining both honor and standing. The road through Arathi, however, was paved with disaster.
“Why do they keep following me??” She said to herself, panting furiously as she ran from several mounted members of the Alliance. One of them, a paladin, lept from his horse and sprung into action.
[“Have at ye, green one!”] He shouted.
“What the heck are you saying??” Vilmah said as she frantically tried to fend off his advances.
Although her warrior skills had been steadily gaining, Vilmah’s strength was far less than the well seasoned paladin she new faced. Dodging a swing from his gigantic hammer to her face, she rolled forward and swung her giant axe upwards towards her enemy. He easily dodged it, and proceeded to channel the Light with a spell that Vilmah instantly recognized.
“Oh no… not--”
[“Let the Hammer of Justice take thee!”] Shouted the Paladin, slamming his hammer into Vilmah’s chest.
She let out an “Oof!” as her limp body flew several feet, and she landed in a groggy heap, unable to gain control of her senses. “What… what happened, ooof!!”
One of the paladin’s friend, a night elf druid, smacked Vilmah across the face with the paw of her bear form. Falling down on the grass, the three members of the alliance congratulated one another on a job well done, and left her there to bleed.
Several hours later, Vilmah awoke to the sounds of a struggle. “Huh?” She looked up to see a member of the Forsaken, fighting back a raptor with his warlock magic. An imp hurled fireballs, until the raptor fell down dead. “Hey there! D’you know how to get to Hammerfall?”
“It’s just up the hill,” replied the Forsaken, with a wave. “Be careful! These animals are treacherous.”
Vilmah waved back. “Thanks! What a nice guy…”
Wandering up the hill, Vilmah’s head continued to throb from her earlier attacks. The injury felt very close to the one she felt only weeks ago, when half of her face was black and blue from a concussion. Walking into Hammerfall however, made her feel as if the pain could vanish in an instant. As if she were a book, a page was turned to her past, and she somehow remembered.
“…is this…..?”
“This be Hammerfall, little orc,” said a troll in front of her. He gave a friendly bow. “Ah be Tor’gan, shaman to dis here outpost. Who you be?”
“Oh!” Vilmah returned the salute. “I’m Vilmah Bloodborne, Grunt for the Horde. I came her to help with the battles in the Arathi Basin.”
“Ya looked a little surprised when ya came in. Dere anytin’ wrong?”
She shook her head. “No. Actually… this place felt familiar.”
“Well, if ya be wantin’ at helt wit’ da war effort, ya can go up dem stairs to da right an’ walk past da windrider.”
“Thanks!”
Vilmah gave Tor’gan a salute, and left him. Approaching the stairs, she caught sight of something that made her stop dead in her tracks; cages. Huge cages that could fit men, or even an
“Orc?”
Vilmah jumped as someone addressed her. “Huh?”
“You look familiar,” said an older man, standing by the cages. He looked battle scarred and weary, gray hair in braids draped about his chest and shoulders. “Who are you?”
Studying him, Vilmah slowly walked towards the warrior. “My name is Vilmah, sir. Vilmah Bloodborne.”
The old orc’s eyes widened only slightly, when he heard the name. Looking her over, he took in her appearance. Small and soft, she had little muscle, but an ample chest. Her eyes were a dark hazel color, and she wore a long thick black ponytail. He noticed that her skin color had a brown hue, not so very unlike his own. “…Bloodborne, you say?”
“Well, yes sir,” she replied with a nod. “Vilmah Bloodborne, Grunt for the Horde. I’m a member of the group known as Sanctuary, sir, here to help with the war effort in the Arathi Basin. May I ask for your name?”
There was a pause. “Gor’mul. I am Gor’mul. Vilmah, do you know of this place?”
“I…” Vilmah turned and looked around. There was a familiarity here she couldn’t deny, but the reason behind it simply wasn’t there. “Sir, I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like I’ve been here before. What was this place?”
Gor’mul’s head hung low. “A terrible place,” he said quietly. “A place where the humans imprisoned our mighty race, and made us slothful and weak. Weak until the Warchief’s arrival, child. Now we have claimed this place for ourselves. For the Horde. Are you… a warrior?”
Vilmah nodded. “Oh yes, sir! I’m a warrior.”
“Of course, you are…” Gor’mul muttered. “Where do you come from? Do you know of your ancestry? Your heritage? Your birthright?”
Vilmah looked at him curiously. “Well, uh, I guess not… y’see, I was born in a place…” She looked around again. “…like this. Then Thrall came. Because my parents were killed, I was raised by matrons in a small village in Durotar, to become a warrior.”
“Killed??” Gor’mul said, his temper flaring. “Killed?! …yes, of course. Your parents, they were… do you remember them?”
She shook her head. “Uhm, not really sir. Actually, though, I remember that the humans were quite nice to me, and my parents didn’t like that they were teaching me things, and--”
“Teaching you what? To become like them? Like a human? You’re lucky that the humans had their skulls broken when the Warchief arrived,” Gor’mul growled. “They were monsters, attempting to conform us to their ways. Attempting to steal our very children.”
Vilmah looked at Gor’mul, his face lined with worries, every crack and wrinkle a tribute to the pain he suffered through. “…sir? If I may ask, did you have children?”
Gor’mul looked away. “If I did, they are gone now. If I did…” He looked up at Vilmah. “I would hope that they are proud warriors for the Horde, who fight for it with all of their soul. I would hope they are smart, and skilled. Tell me, Vilmah. How old are you?”
“Uhm…” She thought back. “Well… I guess… I started training when I was fifteen years old… and time has flown by, since then, so I’m not so sure about my age, but I can’t be much older.”
The old orc nodded. “I see. Well… Vilmah, be careful in the Basin. The Alliance fight without honor, and without mercy. I can see already that they have executed their wrath upon you,” he said, indicating the swollen bruise on her skull.
“Oh, this? Yeah… three of them, outside of Hammerfall.”
Gor’mul shook his head. “Disgusting… That‘s what they are, Vilmah. They are disgusting creatures with no value for life. I learned that a value for one‘s life is a precious thing, indeed. Earlier, a young rogue helped me to discover that.”
“Oh, who was he sir? What did he do?”
“I believe his name was Nojinbu,” said Gor’mul, scratching his chin. “He and some other soldiers of the Horde have given me more of these Raptor Talismans than I can count, but they are appreciated.”
Vilmah’s eyes brightened. “Nojinbu? Oh, wow! He’s a member of Sanctuary, as well! He’s a fantastic rogue, really. A wonderful, great and strong… valiant and full of honor, he’s the best, he really--”
“Wait wait wait,” Gor’mul looked at Vilmah with a curious, although slightly worried expression. “Perhaps I’m mistaken, but are you… no, that’s impossible.”
“What?”
“Do you… have feelings for this troll?”
Vilmah giggled and blushed, looking away. “Oh, Nojinbu is very sweet. He and I both enjoy each other’s company, so. He saved me from so many things, even an older warrior who tried to… well, you know--”
“No, I most certainly do not know!” Gor’mul said with rage. “Are you telling me that there have been members of the Horde who have tried to take physical advantage of you??!”
Vilmah looked around, and came closer to him. “Sir, actually, that’s been a bit of a trend. The one Nojinbu saved me from was the second person to try it, and well, I’m lucky to have had very good friends, because before now I was never very good at fighting.”
“I don’t like this Nojinbu,” Gor’mul growled.
“Oh, but he’s so very sweet to me! He hasn’t even tried to touch me, not the way the others did anyway,” she added quickly. “He’s very gentlemanly. The other night, he even gave me my very first kiss, and--”
“Alright alright,” Gor’mul said, waving his hand. “That’s enough of that. Heed my advice, child. Beware of rogues, and especially trolls. They may be our allies, but I would not trust one with m--… with you.”
Vilmah nodded, and check the sun. “Oh, wow. You know, I was supposed to be at a party tonight. With the Nether Council,” she added, checking her pockets for gold. “Maybe I should fly to Undercity and take the Zepplin to Orgrimmar, then take a wind rider to…” Without finishing her sentence, Vilmah began to sway back and fourth. “Woah… woah, I feel kinda… kinda funny.”
Gor’mul rushed forward, and held her stead in his arms. “What is it? What’s wrong??”
“My head feels kind of… oh, no..”
Vilmah’s hands twitched as she fell unconscious. Gor’mul looked down in shock, and ran towards the house to his left. Inside, an undead man stood bored beside a row of cots. He looked at the two orcs with surprise. “I see I am needed?”
“Do something!” Gor’mul roared, lying Vilmah down in one of the cots.
The undead gave a chuckle. “Of course, of course. Lets check her head first, shall we?”
Reaching for a tray of tools, the undead went to work on Vilmah. In the corner, Gor’mul stood watching. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, until he realized that he was digging into his own skin with his nails.