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  1. Vilmah

    The Blue Hunt

    By the time Vilmah returned to Wor’gol, it was past midnight. Most of the village was already asleep, and the moon cast a bright blue sheen over the snow covered ground that crunched as Edmund bounded through the snow. Attached to his back was a rudimentary sled slapped together with wood and rope, something Vilmah constructed to carry the corpse of her kill. She had strapped down the large she-wolf with yet more rope, but in the moonlight its fur appeared eerily blue, like a brightly colored creature from the jungles of Azeroth rather than a wolf on Draenor. As she approached the village, a few of their still awake warriors waved to her. She waved back and was soon met with Tuyya, who rode out to meet her with sleepy eyes on the back of her black wolf. “That was fast!” She said sarcastically. “I was hoping you wouldn’t need to spend all night out there. Did she hurt you?” Holding up her right arm, Vilmah let Tuyya see the hastily wrapped wound of her right arm. The purple sweater had been stashed in her saddle bag just a mile before reaching the village. “I hope one of your shaman is awake,” she said with a weary smile. “I got her worse than she got me, though. I don’t think she was very interested in living.” “Grief does that to people,” Tuyya agreed, turning her wolf to walk back beside Vilmah. “And animals too, strangely. You brought back the body, though? I would have thought you only needed the fur.” “Can’t let good meat go to waste,” Vilmah reasoned, shrugging. “Even if it’s just dog meat.” Tuyya grinned. “You’re learning quickly. When you first came to us you would have eaten the meat raw on your own, like some crazed animal.” Vilmah’s lip twitched as she lowered her eyes to the snow. “When you first met me I was still very much a crazed animal,” the smaller orc explained, embarrassed. “I’m not exactly proud of that.” “There aren’t many of us who are proud of ourselves at our lowest point. It brought you to us, though, didn’t it?” “War brought me to you,” Vilmah argued gently. “..but I think my grief is what made me stay. And the fact that you all didn’t just kick me out. I’m sure I didn’t make for an impressive prospective new clan member.” “You think we love everyone in the clan?” Tuyya laughed. “Your blood ties you to us, regardless of whatever it is that took you away to begin with. You told me that your mother was one of us. That’s enough for us to give you a chance, and you earned your place.” An uncomfortable silence followed Tuyya’s words, as if Vilmah wanted to agree but couldn’t bring herself to. In truth, she was having trouble not telling Tuyya that she was Vilmah’s mother, and if the portal to Azeroth hadn’t been opened, if Tuyya’s thirst for adventure hadn’t brought her to the arms of a Blackrock orc, Vilmah never would have existed to begin with. “Thanks Tuyya,” she said gratefully, smiling a little in spite of the conversation. “Thanks for being my friend.” “Don’t get all dramatic,” Tuyya chuckled. “I just hate seeing the little guy get stepped on. Or in your case, the little girl. And you looked so sad, like a kicked puppy. Who would kick a puppy? Don’t worry, guura kad dok mara. You’re one of us, now. That means you’ll never really be alone again,” she said reassuringly, punching Vilmah in the left shoulder. “..for better or worse.” "Sounds like quite the commitment," Vilmah said sarcastically, smirking. Tuyya rolled her eyes. "Believe me, it can be a pain in the ass. Any time I even suggest leaving for a long hunt, my family comes up with some reason to make me stay. Commitments, the need to find a mate, it's like they've forgotten what it's like to explore past the forest sometimes. Makes me want to get my hands dirty somewhere new." Vilmah bit the inside of her cheek. It was that wanderlust that caused the Tuyya that she knew to leave through the portal in the first place, and die starving in a cage. "They have a point. I mean.. you have everything you need here, don't you? People love you, here." "I don't disagree with that, but there's more to life than being loved," the orcess argued. "There's adventure, and you can't get that here. Not anymore, anyway. I treasure my clan, but there's more out there than this place. I want to see it." A feeling of dread overcame Vilmah's stomach, like she'd swallowed a mouthful of bees. Tuyya wasn't the type to let anyone hold her back, and she would eventually leave, even if it meant leaving everything behind. The idea of losing her for a second time, this person who, in another lifetime, gave her life for Vilmah's, made the Warboss pale with fear. " could come with me," she found herself saying. "Come to Azeroth, help me with Sanctuary. There's a few Frostwolves in Razor Hill, I'm sure you'll feel right at home. Even if it's in a desert.." Tuyya's eyes widened. "Really? You want me to come with you?" In truth, Vilmah would have preferred that this version of her mother stayed in Draenor, pure in her own way, and untouched by Azeroth's brutality. Knowing that it wasn't in her nature to stay in one place, however, the Warboss nodded quickly. "Yeah, of course. It'd be nice having you there. Plus, plenty of orcs in Azeroth," she joked, smiling a little more. "If your family is worried about you finding a mate." "Can you imagine if I were to bring home one of your green friends??" The orcess laughed, bouncing on her wolf. "Oh they would have an absolute fit! Yes, let's do it! I'll go with you to Azeroth and help your Sanctuary! Right after we clean your blue wolf, of course. You can bring home a wolf pelt and a Frostwolf!" Smiling at her excitement, Vilmah nodded in agreement. Whether or not this was for the best, she couldn't say, but at the very least she'd be able to keep an eye on Tuyya.
  2. Vilmah

    The Blue Hunt

    It was dusk by the time Vilmah reached the she-wolf’s den, and the Warboss was hungry. She brought a few rations for the trip, some dried meat and and water, but the fight had already taken a lot out of her and in the back of her mind she dreamed of a full meal back in Razor Hill. “We’re gonna make the biggest sandwich,” she said quietly to Edmund, examining the trail of wolf blood as it led into a narrow cave once camouflaged with snow. “Maybe... wild boar with lettuce and tomatoes and that thick toasted bread... I wonder if the goblins in Dalaran made any of that good wheat bread? I hope they didn’t burn down our kitchen... I must be out of my mind…” Edmund shook his shaggy head and snorted. Whether this was in agreement or not was up for debate. Inside of the cave, Vilmah felt more than a little exposed. The walls were narrow and taking the lead, if the she-wolf decided to attack, there would be no room to maneuver. She let out a sigh of relief as the cave opened up, the deeper they went. Rounding a corner, Vilmah was slow and silent enough to be able to catch a glimpse of their prey in the middle of her den, attempting to lick the wounds that she herself inflicted. The blue wolf had created a nest from leaves and bark, which she lay in now, her wounds still bleeding slowly on to the ground. A few feet away, the bones of her kills lie in another pile. Beside her, their fur matted and dull, the dead bodies of her pups had been bundled together, huddled as if they were sleeping and not dead. The she wolf gave them a brief nuzzle, whining sadly. Vilmah’s heart ached for the mother she had to put down, knowing that in spite of the tender moment it was not in its right mind, and would only continue to damage an already damaged ecosystem if left to her own devices. Unsheathing her blade, Vilmah pat Edmund’s head and whispered “stay”. Her arm and leg still ached, something she would address later. The she-wolf knew they would come for her. Her nose was superior to Vilmah’s, and it was obvious she had been waiting. Perhaps she just wanted to die here, with her children. Perhaps she wanted Vilmah to die with her. Either way, the wolf stood from her place on the ground and growled, jaws bared, warning Vilmah that any wrong move would result in a death with no burial or funeral pyre. “Easy girl,” Vilmah said quietly, walking slowly now toward her prey. The Warboss voice was quiet and soothing, a tactic that didn’t work as well on people as it did with animals. How it would do on a crazed wolf, she couldn’t know. “I know you’re in pain… I know. Believe me, I know…” The she wolf lowered herself to the ground, as if preparing to spring forward. Still, Vilmah approached her. “I’ve been there,” she continued, her sword tilted to one side in a defensive position. “I know what it’s like to lose family… people you wanted to protect… young ones, even. I know. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry it hurt you. You’ll be with them, soon.” The she wolf sprung forward, her jaws open wide to snap Vilmah in two. In a flash of fur and metal, the Warboss knelt down and pushed her sword up, right through the wolf’s throat. There wasn’t time for a whine or a growl, just the quick death of a sad animal as her blade pierced its spine. It was a faster kill than she anticipated, one moment swift action, and the next a heavy weight as the wolf’s dead body fell directly on top of her. Sliding the sword from the severed brainstem, Vilmah rolled out from under her kill and regarded the body. The she wolf was big, too big to carry out on Edmund’s back, and would require some real muscle to even get out of the cave. Understanding that the Frostwolves would appreciate her meat, however, Vilmah made the decision to take her out of there. With the meat quickly souring the longer it remained dead and unbutchered, she sighed and nodded to Edmund. “Wait here where it’s warm, Ed. I’ll go build a sled.” The wolf dog nodded and sat down next to Vilmah’s kill. Though she had attempted to kill him earlier, he sniffed at her, his eyebrows tilted down sadly at the sight of a mutt like him, dead to his master’s sword. A sad howl fell from his small mouth, a call to the ancestors of their blood, both on Draenor and Azeroth.
  3. Vilmah

    The Blue Hunt

    “I really should have dressed warmer..” It was only a few miles into the snow covered mountainrange and Vilmah had already begun talking to herself. Far away from Wor’gol’s fires, the Blademaster’s green skin was chapped from cold, a sacrifice she made to honor the Blademasters that had come before her. Typically, wearing little armor was supposed to strike fear into her enemies, or at least lead them to believe that she was completely insane. Realizing that a wolf wouldn’t care either way, she eventually brought Edmund to a halt and dug around in her saddle bags for a sweater. It was dyed purple wool with a gold trim, something she knit specifically for emergencies, and she thanked whatever spirits existed that she didn’t forget to bring it. In a purple sweater she might not have looked like a Blademaster, but the sword on her back said differently. First she removed her sword, then gauntlet, then slid on the sweater over the simple white fabric she used to bind her chest. After replacing her sword, gauntlet, and knotting the empty left sleeve, she re-mounted Edmund and continued on through the snow. Tracking was not one of Vilmah’s greatest skills. It had been years since she last hunted a wolf there, in Frostfire Ridge, to solidify her standing with the clan. Back then it felt more like a hunt for her own survival, battered as she was during the Cataclysm, when assassins tracked her in a similar way. She couldn’t help but feel for the wolf in question, a heart broken mother lost in her grief, her mixed blood having created an ugly animal that nobody wanted. It saddened her to think that an animal like this were better off dead, and the act of killing it seemed almost barbaric. A wolf like this, however, could not be tamed no matter how much she would want to. Putting her own selfish desires aside, Vilmah pet Edmund’s fur and spoke to the wolf dog soothingly. “Do you smell her?” She asked, as if he could understand her perfectly. “Do you smell the lady? She smells like you maybe, Ed.” The runt of his mixed breed litter, Edmund wasn’t earned by the Warboss as most Frostwolves make their connections. He was sold in Orgrimmar, a joke to the breeders who saw Vilmah as a worthless runt, deserving of an equally worthless mutt with small teeth and a desire to cuddle rather than kill. She gave him a human name, something that sounded sweet on the tongue, and since then he was just as sweet to her. Growling affirmatively, Edmund put his nose to the snow. The way he could “see” things with his nose was a marvel to Vilmah, something that always fascinated her about animals. He’d been following a trail for the past few miles, and it led them deeper into a heavily wooded area. She could see now why none of the other Frostwolves bothered to track the blue wolf now, considering how deep she’d gone. The most recent blizzard had not just wreaked havoc on the wildlife, but it also done irreparable damage to Wor’gol. Most of the orcs there were too busy rebuilding their own homes to have the time to venture into the snow for a hunt, tempted as they might be. It was startlingly quiet the deeper she went, and in spite of the clear sky, the leafless canopy blocked enough of the light that even mid-day it appeared to be dusk. Every so often, the crunch of snow could be heard somewhere nearby. A squirrel or a white rabbit might have seen them, only to hide. Vilmah didn’t see any wolves yet, but she understood that they avoided orcs if they could. As the already dim light grew dimmer, however, Vilmah began to notice signs of their prey. “Good boy,” she whispered, sliding off of Edmund’s back to walk beside him. Though the mixed breed wolf dog was small, it suited her. He was able to slip through trees that larger worgs couldn’t, and his speed, like Vilmah’s, was surprisingly helpful. Even on the hunt, he was quiet and light on his feet, leaving lighter footprints than the giant ones that they suddenly came across. “Oh..” Vilmah murmured. “..she’s a big one, alright.” Edmund gave a quiet growl. It was different from his usual growl, the affirmative sound he made when answering Vilmah. This was a warning. “That was quick,” Vilmah said to herself, unsheathing the sword at her back. It slid out smooth, making no sound at all but shining brightly in the slowly darkening woods. The only thing shinier, Vilmah surmised as it happened, were the eyes of the wolf who suddenly burst forth from a dark crevice in the snow with open jaws. “Edmund!!” The orcess shouted, rushing forward to intercept the massive blue animal that had set her mount in his sights. She was larger than Vilmah anticipated, larger even than Greywind and shaggier. True to her reputation, the she-wolf was a strange gray color that appeared blue in the dimming light, but her eyes were actually blue, a strange trait inherited from her mixed blood. There was already blood in her maw, possibly from a more recent kill, and it dripped from the she-wolf’s foaming mouth as she went after the smaller wolf. Luckily for them both, Edmund was faster than his full-blooded brethren and managed to dodge the attack. He rolled in the snow and leaped forward, maneuvering his body away from the enormous jaws of the she-wolf. Not to be outdone by the pup, she rushed for him, splashing snow every which way, her blue eyes bloodshot and furious. Vilmah used the opportunity to rush the bitch from behind, stabbing her from behind with a single clean incision at the she-wolf’s hindquarters. Blood shot into the snow, spraying forward like a geyser, but it did little to slow the blue creature’s attack or soften her rage. A loud howl of fury followed the freeing of Vilmah’s blade, and before she could bring it up to block the wolf lunged forward and snapped her jaws around the Warboss’ leg. “Oh you bitch,” Vilmah said through grit teeth, the armor strong enough to keep the wolf jaws from puncturing her skin, but not strong enough to keep her from squeezing and denting the armor into her bone. Seeing no blood, the wolf instantly recoiled, taking a moment to assess the lack of blood before lunging forward again. This time, Vilmah was ready. As the wolf’s jaws came for her unprotected torso, she stabbed her sword into its chest, burying the blade to the hilt before pulling it back out. Large as she was, the deep wound bled heavily, but still the bitch fought. Before Vilmah had the chance to attack again, the blue wolf bit down on her arm, her only arm, and while protected by the gauntlet it managed to get a tooth right into the Warboss’ forearm. This might have been big trouble. If she hit a jugular with her tooth, it would have taken Vilmah out of the hunt immediately. It might have taken her out of her life too, but she didn’t think about that right away. Rather, she slammed an armored knee into the wolf’s face, stunning her enough that she let go of her prey and stumbled back. With both of them bleeding, Vilmah and the wolf assessed themselves. It impressed Vilmah that the animal, in spite of her madness, had enough of a mind to want to live. Growling through the orc’s blood in her mouth, the bitch winced and bounded off into the woods. Edmund whined and bounded for Vilmah, whose arm was bleeding but thankfully wasn’t broken. “Times like this I really wish I had two hands,” she muttered to the wolf dog, watching the she-wolf run off, leaving a trail of blood behind. She would be weak, now, and easy to track, but Vilmah’s leg was sore from the bite and she had to wrap her arm first. “This is gonna be a long night, Ed,” she said while using the wolf to slide her sweater sleeve, the purple discolored with blood, and examine the wound. It was deep enough to be troublesome if not seen to, so Vilmah plunged it into the snow to clean it before grabbing a bandage from her saddlebags. With teeth and determination, she managed to wrap it haphazardly, tight enough to stop it from bleeding all over her. It would need attention later, but for now she had a wolf to kill. “Alright Edmund,” she sighed, hopping back on her friend’s back. “Follow her. She won’t last long out there, and I’m not about to become food for whatever friends she has left.”
  4. Vilmah

    The Blue Hunt

    “ gray it’s almost blue, so they call it the blue wolf.” Vilmah blinked once and shook her head, lost in her own thoughts. “Sorry, can you repeat that?” The Frostwolf grinned at her with a mouth full of white teeth, her bottom canines impressively large. They pressed into her cheeks to create dimples, far deeper than Vilmah’s but no less similar. Tiny designs engraved in her tusks reminded Vilmah of the troll totems she’d seen on Azeroth, and it distracted her for a moment as she considered how different their cultures were, yet how many similarities they shared. Most of the other clan members did a double-take when she entered Wor’gol, though a few remembered her from less-than recent battles on Draenor, when many adventurers came and went. This one, “guura kad dok mara” the “one-armed green runt”, came to Wor’gol covered in scars that went deeper than her flesh. She remained longer than the others, helping the Frostwolves as they healed her with the culture her late mother could not share on Azeroth. She fought with the ferocity of an injured wolf, something the clan understood. It was not often that the Azerothian orcs made their way back to Draenor these days, so her presence was news. Tuyya was more than happy to greet her, having been aided by Vilmah the first time she stepped into their village. The ‘Warboss’ seemed better now, well muscled and clean, her eyes clear and bright in spite of the horrors witnessed throughout the years. It was no wonder she came to Draenor to clear her mind. “Welcome back, guura kad dok mara!” she said with a grin, as if this were an honorable title. These days, Vilmah didn’t take offense. “You’ve got a head full of thoughts,” Tuyya noted playfully, nudging the smaller greener orcess’ shoulder with one hand. Noticeably, the Frostwolf made it a point only to touch her right shoulder, far away from the metal monstrosity on Vilmah’s left side. “What brings you here to hunt, anyway?” It was a good question, but one that the Warboss wasn’t keen on answering in detail. “A friend of mine is injured. I was feeling a little restless, now that the Legion has been defeated. I thought maybe a hunt could clear my head, and he’d appreciate a new fur.” “To keep him warm on cold nights I imagine,” the Frostwolf said knowingly, smirking. Tuyya was nothing if not forward and her frank nature made it easy to talk too much. Just inside of Wor’gol, she and Vilmah stood near a large fire that illuminated the bright hazel eyes that the smaller orcess looked to for guidance. They were the same age, and yet this was exactly how she remembered her mother. Tuyya stood a half head taller than she did, with a broad frame and thick black braids. She even remembered her tusks, though those memories were clouded with fear and hunger. Except this Tuyya was most certainly not her mother. This Tuyya was well-fed, bold, eager for adventure, and had no qualms about discussing her own courtships with the new one-armed member of their clan. “Well, he’s bedridden right now,” Vilmah said awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck as it prickled from the cold. Mentally she kicked herself for being so stubborn about her Blademaster attire, the bare skin of her shoulders and torso visibly reddened by the cold weather of Frostfire Ridge. “I just wanted something to cheer him up when he wakes, and I figured a fur from Frostfire would do the trick.” “A generous endeavor,” Tuyya noted dramatically. “Furs like this aren’t usually given to subordinates, ‘Warboss’.” “He’s my shaman,” Vilmah specified. Tuyya paused in her teasing and pursed her lips. “..ah. Well, this will be an appropriate gift, then.” “You said he was grayish-blue?” Vilmah asked, hurriedly returning to the subject of the hunt. Both hands clutched her sides eagerly, though her mechanical one noticeably had a looser grip. “Yes, it seems some of your less than lucky adventurers from Azeroth left their wolves here when they perished. They’re not from our world, but they bred with our worgs and created some ugly monstrosities,” she chuckled. “Mixed breeds. You need to watch out for those ones the most.” Vilmah’s lip twitched. “It’s grayish-blue, this one,” Tuyya continued. “A big she-wolf, she’s been wreaking havoc with the others. I think her pups might have been killed by the last blizzard and it’s driven her mad. None of us has had the time or the desire to go out and track her down yet, especially after the winter we’ve had. Too busy tending to what needs to be done, here. So if you can nab the bitch, we’d be grateful.” “I’ll do what I can,” Vilmah said hopefully, smiling a little at the endeavor. She wasn’t as much of a hunter as her predecessors, but the art of the hunt was something that went deep in her blood and she could full the pull and excitement tugging at her heartstrings. “Ah, just one thing,” Tuyya said quickly, lowering her voice. “About your toy. I would suggest leaving it.” “My..? Oh...” Glancing down at her mechanical arm, the Warboss smiled at the thought of just how offended Gunheya would be if he heard someone refer to it as a ‘toy’. “The rest of the village sees that sort of thing as a.. a crutch. Weakness, you know? Maybe you don’t care, but—“ “I don’t,” Vilmah agreed, reaching for the attachment on her left bicep. With a twist and a click, it disengaged from the stump of her left arm, the scar tissue dark and wrinkled. It was ugly, but uglier still to the Frostwolves was the idea that she might hide the scars that made her. The metal itself was enough of a Blackrock looking monstrosity, perhaps a strange callback to Vilmah’s own mixed blood, whether she admitted to it or not. Handing the arm toward Tuyya with her one hand, Vilmah appeared even smaller. “Hold on to it for me? I’ll be back for it soon enough.” Tuyya took the arm without protest, holding it like a precious artifact in both hands. While it may have bothered the rest of her kin, to Tuyya it was a marvel of mechanical genius, and a perfect representation of the wonders that awaited outside of Wor’gol. “Good luck, guura kad dok mara,” she said with a grin. “I still say you should dress a little warmer.” Smirking at the idea, good as it was, Vilmah shrugged it off and whistled for her own mixed breed wolf dog. “Nobody ever feared the Blademasters because they were sane,” she argued. “Yeah but they had fire swords to keep them warm!” Tuyya laughed, holding up the arm to wave it limply as Vilmah and Edmund bounded off into the snow.
  5. Vilmah

    Mardalius Anterius, Battlemage Extraordinaire

    "Mardalius is a strong and confident battlemage," Alinah says proudly. "I think he will prove himself to be a great asset to the Horde and Sanctuary, if he hasn't already. I'm glad I met him when I did, or I might never have had the courage to leave my old life behind. I hope we have a long life together."
  6. Vilmah

    T'suro Sunspear (H)

    He's a good person to have on your team, though he seems a little green for an elf.
  7. Vilmah

    Baern Ashtotem

    A strong and confident leader, someone you can depend on.
  8. Vilmah


    I know him probably more than I should.
  9. Vilmah

    Writing Contest: Race Bending

    Woo! Sorry for the late announcement, but here are your winners! 1st Place: Fhenrir 2nd Place: Qabian 3rd Place: Brinnea Congratulations! You will be getting your prize gold in the mail. Thanks to everyone for writing!!
  10. Vilmah

    Writing Contest: Race Bending

    Update: We're going to give you guys another week! The deadline is now September 8th. We will choose a winner on September 15th! Keep writing!
  11. Rules: 1. Roll a 100 sided die (can be done digitally) 2. Your (main) character is now the race dictated by the results of your roll. If you roll your current race, you must re-roll. The point is, after all, to write something different! 3. Write a short story (500 - 2000 words, or 1-4 standard pages) involving your main character as this new race, and how he fits with the Horde or Alliance. Does being another race change your character's personality? Does it change their objectives? If the race they are changed to does not allow for the same class they were originally, how does that change your character? What aspects remain at the heart of your character that will translate if they are another race entirely? Note: Participants can write up to 2 stories to enter into the contest. 4. Post your story as its own separate thread with the tag (Race Bending Contest) in the title. Ex. Minny Fibblebottom's Lucky Day (Race Bending Contest) Example: Vilmah Bloodborne is an orc. I roll the die and get a 75. Suddenly she is a tauren! I write a short story about Vilmah the tauren, while utilizing her personality but in a completely different context. I also include (with the story) a short description of the original character, to offer some context for readers unfamiliar with them. Note: This description of your original character does not count toward the character limit of the short story. 1 - 7 Dwarves 8 - 15 Orcs 16 - 23 Gnomes 24 - 31 Goblins 32 - 39 Humans 40 - 47 Trolls 48 - 55 Night elves 56 - 63 Pandaren 64 - 71 Draenei 72 - 79 Tauren 80 - 87 Worgen 88 - 95 Forsaken 96 - 100 Blood Elves The 1st place winner will receive 10k g in prize money in-game, with 2nd and 3rd place winning 5k g and 3k g respectively. The deadline is Sept. 1st. The winners will be chosen by Sanctuary (H), Twilight Empire (A), Borrowed Time (H) and Night Vanguard (A) representatives by September 7th. Good luck!
  12. Vilmah

    TNG Con... 2018!

    So just to jump on the New Orleans bandwagon, I'd like to suggest the following: Accomodations: Omni Royal New Orleans Just a few blocks from Jackson Square, we'd be right in the middle of everything. They have 3 suites available, the largest of which holds up to 25 people. We would be a block from Bourbon Street, which is where all the mayhem happens. We would be within walking distance of just about everything you wanna do in New Orleans, from graveyard walks to haunted tours to the Voodoo museum. I have a whoooole list of things we can do besides these things, but if we go in an offseason (say winter, January maybe) we will get low prices and it shouldn't be too hot for all you sweaty people.
  13. Vilmah


    Vilmah winced as the Inquisitor reached into Cobrak's mind, the orc's body visibly jerking as he attempted to fight off the mental invasion. "Now now.." the demon chuckled, digging deeper. "I can make it worse. I can rip your mind apart to get what I want. What are you hiding, 'Boss'? What secrets are you clinging to?" Cobrak said nothing, merely seething in contempt for the demon as he roared spittle in his face. His first defense failed, revealing information Cobrak secretly wanted him to find; things he wanted to protect falsely to better hide away the defenses and plans of his people. Dragon's Roost was vulnerable still, what defenses they had would not stand up to a demonic invasion. Cobrak would sacrifice his privacy and pride to protect them....he had to. The first memory bubbledup as Cobrak snarled; the memories awash with humans clad in plate with adorning anchor emblems emblazoned on their uniforms, a sign of the Kul Tiras nation. Hatred broiled throughout his being at the sight, the humans overseeing a constant ebb and flow of ragged orcs, some on the verge of starvation and death as they were forced to do grueling labor. Ores and gems mined and processed by the greenskins, whilst enduring the abuse of their pinkskinned overlords. Cobrak growls as a memory surfaces of one of the guards ripping away a newly-blossomed orc female from her work, the cries of pain sounding along with the painfully familiar slappings of flesh being forced upon another body. The process kept on in a dismal play, each day shown worse than the last. Only until the scene turned standstill as a particularly painful mmeory bobbed to the surface with a youngling's cry of "MOTHER!" Two guards had seized what seemed to be a scarlet-haired orcess and began to drag her away to a fate much like the female from before, a plaything for their amusement. Eyes locked onto that image, the world immensely larger through his eyes at such a young age. Green hands shook at a decreiped robed figure, spurring to action. "FATHER! FATHER! THEY'RE TAKING HER! FAAATHER!" The sight became blurred, water boiling his eyes as the figure stared ahead as though comatose. The red had been burnt out of the elder's lone eye, the orc naught but a husk of what he was supposed to be. A growl surfaced to mimic the older orc's, as he dashed off to pursue the two humans. Vilmah wasn’t sure what to expect when the Inquisitor started his work. She didn’t imagine he join her subconscious with Cobrak’s, but that was exactly what he did. Why? She wondered, as she watched Cobrak experience the pain of loss that would shape his life. Why make me see this? Then the idea struck her; to keep an eye on her thoughts. She and Cobrak couldn’t plan an escape if their thoughts were visible. “Excellent guess,” the Inquisitor said to her, vocalizing his confirmation of her theory. “It is interesting how far back he wanted to take his secrets, is it not? The weaknesses of his little port, the desire to protect his men, that was the first thing I could see… but this weighs more heavily in his mind. Something that happened so very long ago. So interesting.” Vilmah found herself snarling, a reaction that felt strangely out of character for the typically calm blademaster in training. “Leave him alone!” But the Inquisitor didn’t stop there. “Eventually,” he chuckled, diving deeper into Cobrak’s mind. “For now, I am having too much fun.” Cobrak seethed again, roaring his fury as he locked his lone eye onto the demon's, not a trace of fear but purest fury as he tried unsuccessfully to force the demon out through sheer force of will. His efforts were met with another wave of pain that assaulted his mind, more thoughts to be stolen. The mining camp was in flames, an infernal blaze that tipped the skies as the same shortened field of vision came now, hurrying along with a shorter scarlet-tressed orcish child being dragged along behind him in an effort to keep pace away from the cries of death and mutilation. "Put the greenskins down before they revolt like Blackmoore's." A whisper was heard, a human's speech coming through panicked thought. Images flashed of their escape through madness and hell, dodging between orcs and humans clashing. An orcess shoving them both through a small tunnel in the wall, too small for herself, the two fleeing to secure a small boat to sail away. Fleeing for their lives, these two orclings were with tears in their eyes as tey cried out for the family and friends left behind. There was more, in the forests they landed upon, came a being that which the demon could see many many strings of emotions entailing; a dark iron man, with rotund belly and a laugh much like Cobrak's. A rifle slung onto his shoulder that was a pitch perfect match for the orc's as of now. Cobrak tried to fight again, to protect the sanctity of his adoptive father, to keep his memory from being tainted by demonic hands. "Me name's Broden," The dark iron said, leaning down to survey the two little orcs, grin wide. "Ya kin come 'ome wit me iffin ya like."(edited) “How very touching,” the Inquisitor sighed. “But ultimately useless. Your little jaunt down childhood memories does little for me. Now…” the demon leaned in closer to the bars. “Tell me what you’ve really got hiding in there. Tell me what shames you so. I can feel you sweating. Something with great power had you cowed. Show me.” The orc growled more, hattred broiling still as though it would allow hima reprieve from this desecration. Images flashed, time spent among dark irons; a family clan ousted by its kind to live on the surface to make do with mercenary work. The family grew with more outsiders; trolls and tauren and soon...two black-haired humans that made Cobrak's anger bubble over at the mere sight of. Morinth. Jaster. Betrayers. Accepted, welcomed...the hatred he bore before dimmed over time, blossoming to love as Cobrak's younger lips met the human's. The orc cried his fury at the demon who so invaded, his shame on display now. A memory came, eyes that once burned with fire were snuffed and never to reignite; a pool of blood gathering on a desk much like the Cobrak's of today. An axe belonging to the orc embedded in Broden's back, but it was a pinkskinned hand who clutched its handle. A devious smile framed towards the haunted surprise of Cobrak as he surveyed the scene, Morinth's grin broke only to scream. False panic filled her system as harrowing cries filled the halls. "HELP HELP! COBRAK'S KILLED BRODEN!" "Betrayal?" The Inquisitor chuckled. "But it is more then that, isn't it? That woman. That woman has something, doesn't she? Tell me how useful she is, little orc." The demon bore down. "Show me why she is so important to you." He groaned in pain, more memories flooding out. Slaying Jaster, the brother; stealing away Broden's rifle whilst fleeing Morinth's shrieks of vengeance and his former family. A game of the hunt ensued, the two coming to blows whenever they met. A ruthless shadow organization at her command, as well as seemingly clones and duplicates of herself that shared one mind. An overlapping image of a Morinth scarred beyond recognition imparting her will onto numerous human designed in her youthful, flawless image; all bearing an eye that glowed like a crystal borne of the Void. The crystal. A shard of something greater that allowed her to take minds as she pleased and usurp her will into them. A legion of Morinths made from unwilling servants; girls plucked from the streets and orphanages, altered by the gem's presence and surgery to resemble her, aged artifically until they could be worked upon. Boys and other races' souls consumed by the gem to feed it. Cobrak growled, fighting back harder as when the demon pressed further in regards to the crystal. "Ah haaa...." the Inquisitor said happily, his little bony hands fluttering. "There we are! What is that? A crystal? A treasure of incredible power? Show me! I would love to see this trinket!" He resisted, if but for a moment, before laughing. Through the pain he managed to laugh as he showed the memory of where the crystal was located; in the middle of a lava pool, disintegrated into nothing as it and the upper half of Mornth's head were submerged beneath it. "Oh... well, that is a shame," the Inquisitor sighed. "Oh well! Your turn!" He said to Vilmah, turning his eyeless gaze toward the orcess. She didn't seem even remotely prepared for it. Vilmah's entire body jerked forward as the demon focused his attention on her subconscious. In an instant, what felt like chaos was projected into his mind. Flashes of blood, steel, screaming, and overwhelming pain. Above all, the orcess' mind seemed as if it were flooded with one thing; war. Cobrak snarled, feeling drained but definitely not out of the fight, "Oi...piece...o' shite....kinnae me none anymore...kin ya?!" The Inquisitor ignored Cobrak. Physically, anyhow. If he heard the other orc while picking through Vilmah's mind, he didn't make it clear. The three were strangely linked during the ordeal, though the Inquisitor himself kept his mind mostly blocked. If anything, both orcs could see him reel from the outright displays of violence in Vilmah's memory. It wasn't the blood, really. Nor was it the pain. It was the sheer amount, piled up year after year. Born and starved in Hammerfall, surrounded by death. Following Thrall to Durotar, only to be subjected to the military training that would shape her into a killer. Rejecting that killing instinct, inheriting Sanctuary shortly after coming of age. Leading a handful of those willing to fight for honor and justice. Betrayal at the hands of Garrosh Hellscream. More death. More blood. Vengeance. "What have we here?" The Inquisitor chuckled as Vilmah's memories led him and Cobrak into Grommash Hold. She was standing beside humans. Cobrak growled once more, powerless to stop the inquisitor. They went in deeper. The Inquisitor followed the threads of Vilmah’s brain to a room in Grommash hold. She killed the Kor’kron guards. She killed the Kor’krons inside. She killed them all indiscriminately until they lay on the floor and she stood staring at them. That was when she noticed something. “No,” the memory muttered. The Inquisitor laughed. The Kor’kron were female. One of them appeared thicker in the middle. “Amusing, but ultimately worthless information,” the demon chuckled, moving in deeper. The Sanctuary guildhall. The security. Vilmah had a hand in it all. “Here we are,” he sighed. “Now to see what you pests have to work with.” The orc snarled more, glancing away from the memory. It was war, you can't pick and choose who you kill in battle. He growled to himself, looking at the eredar a brief moment. The Eredar seemed distracted by a conversation. They glanced at Cobrak and Vilmah every so often, if only to make sure that they were still breathing, but otherwise talked quietly amongst themselves. Cobrak sent a glare towards them when locking eyes, baring his fangs before looking over at Vilmah. Vilmah was still focused on the Inquisitor. Or at least, he was focused on her. Both of the orcess' hazel eyes were locked on his as she stared into his eyeless face. "And I see here your progress on the Broken Shore.. and what's this? A vault? A vault full of relics? Well, that is useful..." It was then Cobrak felt a familiar instinctual tingle at the base of his skull. A familiar call that made him grin discretely as the Legion ship suddenly echoed with a large, terrible thunk like something had collided with it. Cobrak growled in rage, the whole of his body suddenly being encased in a feral aura of pure bloodthirst. The walls of their cells suddenly began to heat, a molten glow forming on its wall suddenly to burst open with draconic fire as Emberscale roared its fury to the two Eredar. Both beastmaster and drake were wrapped in the same aura. The heat of the drake was more than enough to scald Vilmah's skin, shocking her into action. Whatever made up the ship's walls was torn apart by heat and teeth. Stumbling backward, the Eredar and Inquisitor scrambled to escape from what was beginning to look like a very bad situation for themselves and every other demon on board. Luckily for Vilmah and Cobrak, the drake also managed to break through the chain holding their manacles to the wall. Unfortunately, the bars were still in place. "Quick! Have him take down those bars, Cobrak!" Vilmah said quickly, jumping to her feet with the chains still bound to her good arm. Cobrak whistled sharply, commanding as the proto-drake ceased its fire to peer at the two orcs. From off its back leapt a flash of fur and lightning as Skoll barreled into the inquisitor's back, snarling as it began tearing into the demon. Emberscale hissed in response, it moving in with its mouth to rip off the bar, snapping it to scrap metal with its powerful jaws. Freed save for his legs still bound together, Cobrak leapt at the inquisitor alongside Skoll. Even without mobility, he could still fight as he and Skoll literally began tearing apart the invasive demon. Vilmah ran past Cobrak and the Inquisitor, running straight for the Eredar. They were both weaving spells at the two naked orcs, but while their shadow magic hurt it wasn't enough to combat the pure adrenaline coursing through the diminutive orcess. Still bearing a calm expression, she grabbed the female Eredar's skull with her one hand and shoved it into her companion's. A violent crack of skulls signaled their almost instant demise. The Eredar went down with a thud, limp in a growing pool of blood. But Vilmah wasn't done. Still naked, she looked around quickly to get her bearings and saw what looked like a row of cells much like the one she and Cobrak shared. "I'm getting my arm!" She shouted to Cobrak, her chain scraping against the floor as she ran for what looked like a storage room on the other end. All Cobrak could hear was the agonizing shriek of the inquisitor as Cobrak placed two rough hands on its skull-like head, a foot on its spine as he began to pull. It hissed and clawed the ground as the hunter forcibly removed its head with a sickening sloughened sound as his spine decided to come along with. The hunter roared his fury, a hand slamming to his chest as he bore his prize. The beastmaster lagged along behind the blasemaster, Skoll remaining behind with the drake to make sure their escape did went unhindered. Cobrak would not leav this place without Broden's rifle. As she heard him running behind her, Vilmah understood that Cobrak was near. Most of the other cells she passed were empty, but those that weren't seemed to contain corpses. Silently, Vilmah considered that they likely would have been next. At the end of the hall, she came to the storage room. Yanking open the door, an array of different objects tumbled to the floor; clothes, weapons, armor. Her arm sat on a shelf beside her sword and scant armor, which she grabbed to pull on immediately. "We gotta go before they find out he's dead," she said while pulling on her armored pants. It was then that she noticed the collection of bombs left in a container on the floor. Vilmah blinked once, her mind made up. "Maybe we do one last thing, first." Cobrak looked around in the storage room, desperately searching. When he saw his beloved runed rifle he practically leapt at it, scooping it up to secure it within his grasp as though it would be an insult should anyone else touch it. He sighed in relief, fidning his armor as well. Fighting in the nude was always an interesting experience, but soemthing he'd rather not happen as a common occurence. "Aye, betcha money that wasnae e'en tha commander o' this ship." Cobrak stated, following her gaze to the bombs. A grin forms on his face as he holds up the demon's removed head, "Oi, dinnae think they'll mind us borrowin' sum...will ya, guv?" His voice became a falsetto mimicry of the inquisitor, as his arm made its jaw dance like it were talking. "Oi oi, go right 'ead, fer yer trouble." Vilmah carefully grabbed four bombs, two for each hand. "Can your drake fly us to different spots on the outside? Probably be a safer bet than trying to two-man our way through this place." "Aye, Ember kin git us round..." Cobrak grunts, tossing the head away with a chuckle. "Let's do it, then," Vilmah nodded, checking to make sure she retrieved all of her things; arm, armor, sword, bags. Once satisfied, she made back for their cell and Cobrak's waiting drake. Emberscale lounged on the improvised entrance he had made, clinging to the wall like a bat at rest. Skoll tipped his head up to view the runty female, a low growl murmuring from him before Cobrak reapeeared right after. Showing Vilmah into the saddle to ride behind him, Cobrak whipped the reins to make the crimson drake teeter off the the ship to spiral into a graceful glide, whirling back towards the ship. "I'd says tha engines an' tha bow! Thass where we'll do mos' damage!" Cobrak called over the wind. "On it!" Vilmah shouted back, aiming with her arm. She squinted through the wind at the engines, considering the implications of getting too close during the explosions. "Get some distance! I can chuck 'em at the engines with my arm!" "Git 'em set an' ready ta toss then!" he yelled back as he veered Emberscale to performa quick strafing run. Vilmah waited for the drake to get just close enough that she could reasonably aim. Her mechanical arm, while newer, she understood to be a little stronger than she was used to. She squinted toward the engine for a few seconds, then hurled the bomb as hard as she could manage. It went further than a normal arm would have managed, and sailed through the wind into the ship to create a small explosion. "Got it!" Cobrak laughed uproariously as the ship went up in flames when the bombs went off, the ship being sucked back into the nether as the entirety was engulfed in violent explosions. "GLORIOUS! AHAHAHA TAKE THAT YA FEL-FUCKIN' SODS!" Vilmah didn't laugh, but she seemed content enough with how things worked out. She kept quiet as Cobrak guided them away from the exploding demon ship, holding on to him and the drake with her good arm. Emberscale veered away, back towards civilization. The moment turned awkwardly silent as Cobrak stared ahead. Moments ticked by without a word between them. "...Wut ya saw, that dinnae leave tha ship." Cobrak finally said. Vilmah's face was stoic. She stared at the scales of the drake's neck. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she considered talking back. Cobrak was used to having control and it irked her. However, the chilly breeze over her nearly bare chest was a reminder; patience. The way of the blademaster. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said calmly, her voice monotone. "I didn't see anything." Cobrak decided that was good enough. The less who knew about his secrets, the better. " Good..." He said, careening the drake back to land at Vengeance Point.
  14. Vilmah


    Cobrak hated being put in a situation that he could could not control the flow of. To be put solely on the mercy of “ifs” made his stomach curl, and a new rage blossom in his heart. It was akin to his days as a slave, to merely wait for the oncoming whip to snap at him. The thought made a fresh new flutter of rage blossom in his heart as he awaited the arrival of their superior. Once again, the Inquisitor arrived. The demon didn't acknowledge the two Eredar as he floated toward the bars, but grinned at Cobrak and Vilmah as if he had nothing better to do than entertain himself with the two orcs. "I see you have both grown comfortable," he said casually. "I would suggest that while I pluck the secrets from your subconscious you do not attempt to fight me. My associates will keep you from harming yourself. Wasting my time will not stop me, and you will only delay the inevitable. My advice is that you simply enjoy the ride. If you behave, I may let you live a while longer." The two Eredar smirked at one another as Vilmah squirmed in her place. "I have no intention of behaving," she growled, staring at the Inquisitor. "Is that so?" The demon chuckled. "Well," he grinned at Cobrak. "I'll just have to start with your friend then." There came a low rumbling snarl from deep in Cobrak's throat, but it was a tired one; a lion in captivity who could no longer muster the feral pride in its new cage. Mind-delving torture was nothing new, another retched filcher who sought to plunder his brain for secrets would end up like all the rest. Vilmah turned to look at Cobrak. He seemed resigned to his fate, though she knew better than to think he would simply give up and allow the Inquisitor to steal all of his secrets. Still, she couldn't imagine what kind of secrets the mercenary would have, anyway. His type was typically shameless. He clearly felt no guilt in regards to killing, or war, so what kind secrets did the Inquisitor want? What would he want to find? "Why bother with him?" Vilmah said sarcastic sneer. "He doesn't have any secrets worth finding. He's a mercenary. What, do you want to find his recipe for gnome pot pie?" Cobrak's secrets were his alone, but for at that moment he needed the bait of those secrets to lure the inquisitor in for more. Thoughts ran through his head of a scene where he could maybe let the demon parcel his mind, let himself snap his finger to him out of the magical trance; then focus on the inquisitor... No fleshy bits for him to bite or turn into, no blunt force strong enough he could use to daze him. The two eredar posed the biggest problem, as even if he could take down the interrogator, those two would simply lash him back. Then Vilmah spoke, and a curious gaze was sent her way for the briefest of moments. This was too familiar of when he and Faelenor were in Lazhio's clutches, each laughing and abusing their tormentors in a contest to see who could help their comrade out more by being the center of attention for torture. The idiot was probably going to get herself killed. "She ain't e'en worth yer time. She's a low caste officer in 'er own guild." He grumbled. "He doesn't know what he stalking about," Vilmah argued, struggling against her bindings. "He hardly knows who I am. You do, though," she insisted, glaring at the Inquisitor. "You know why you brought me here, and it wasn't for some stupid pissing contest over importance. You want secrets? Go ahead. I have plenty, and none of them will help you." Cobrak grunted a little, letting his teeth flare once more to bare before the looming demons. "Ya know, I got mental implants from tha best minds in me company.... Let tha woman go an' I'll turn 'em off..." A bluff, since his deal with Lazhio evaporated those mental wards anyway; he didn't expect them to even bother thinking about the deal, just another part in the act. The Inquisitor and his associates laughed, clearly amused by the two orcs. "Enough.. enough!" The demon said in between chuckles. If he had eyes, they would be full of tears. "You're both remarkable in your idiocy. I'm going to reach into both of your heads and rip out what I want. There's no need to see who will be first, but since you both insist on being so selfless, I'm going to pick the one with the loudest mouth." Without another word, the Inquisitor turned to Cobrak and extended a hand in his direction. Within moments, pain shot through the orc's body, traveling from the base of his spine up toward his brainstem and throughout each nerve ending. "Now," the demon commanded. "What's on your mind, little orc?" With the pain came a surge of bestial anger, throbbing up his spine that made his eye practically glow with bloodlust. Much like partioning soldiers to make a false front to die so others could live, so did he make his focus as such when it came to his beasts' link; he hid it away and made a show of defense towards his most preciously guarded secrets. "G..UTT...IN'...YA...." He managed to growl, before his mind was seized.
  15. Vilmah


    Cobrak hocked a loogie at one and laughed, eager to rile them up. The eredar both laughed, the male stepping far enough away from Cobrak's projectile to let it land in front of his hooves. "Look, Xer'ci. He's angry," the male chuckled, grinning at his companion. "They said they would be ugly, but they didn't say just how ugly. How am I supposed to heal in these circumstances?" The female smirked and shook her head. "Just close your eyes and pretend he is your mother, Seyyir." Seyyir punched the female gently in her shoulder. "Bitch. Come on, let's get this overwith." The two eredar faced Vilmah and Cobrak. Their eyes glowed a little brighter as they focused their magic toward the orcs, healing their heads and their small wounds. It didn't take long before both Vilmah and Cobrak felt perfectly fine. Cobrak orc growled still, understanding that the healing was just the beginning of what would most likely be strenuous torture. He knew he had to be patient for a proper chance to strike, but he had to keep up an act that he would be defiant lest they become suspicious. More abuse was hurled their way, words and curses that would make a goblin sailor blush. Remarks about their mothers fornicating with fel boars were particularly descriptive. Despite his goading, the Eredar seemed less inclined to actually interact verbally with Cobrak. Once they finished healing them, the two stood aside but didn't leave. Vilmah regarded this turn of events suspiciously. "Don't mind us," Seyyir said with a chuckle. "We're just going to supervise this interrogation. Make sure you don't do anything stupid while it happens. Just in case," he added with a wink. Vilmah stared straight ahead, her mouth shut. She didn't bother looking at Cobrak, who she was certain would have something to say about that. Cobrak’s mind pondered. An angry opponent was easier to deal with, especially since they would be overseeing the torture now. How to make these shitbags angry? Had to be something deeply personal. He tried their families and appearances but that wasn't doing any good. That's when an idea came to him. Grinning to himself as he decided on a gambit that might spark true irritation. "Whass tha matter draenei?! Gonna 'ang back an' 'ide be'ind yer Prophet, ya red-skinned Naaru-suckin' goats?!" One thing that they would hate, as he remembered from his days working for the Aldor. These demons hated being referred to as their Light-worshipping cousins. The Eredar paused, blinking at eachother before bursting into laughter. Seyyir wiped a tear from his eye and nodded toward Cobrak, grinning. "That one, we'll have to make sure he lasts past the interrogation. I want to have fun with him when it's over." Cobrak kept on his laighter, hiding his fristration that he could not anger them. These guards were competent. How could he rattle them? He shot a look at Vilmah, giving her an eye-laden shrug as though to say, 'I tried'. Vilmah returned Cobrak's look dubiously. He was obviously trying to rattle them, but it didn't seem to work. For the first time, she felt appreciative of his attitude, the way he tried to take control of their situation. It was a strategy she could understand, needing to be in control. Being chained and at the mercy of someone else's plan clearly irked him.. "Stop it, Cobrak," she sighed, like someone who was tired of fighting. "What's the point.." Cobrak grunted, sneered before falling into a similar melancholy. The fight had been taken out of him, it seemed. Well, at least the front of him trying to put up a fight would be taken well. As Cobrak acquiesced, Vilmah prayed he would understand her meaning. If we're going to win, we have to lose, she thought to herself. He was clearly in the possession of a typical orcish temper, as evidenced by his behavior. She hoped that his submission would lead their captors in a direction that would give them the advantage. "I think they're ready, Xer'ci," Seyyir said with a smirk, nodding toward Cobrak. "I can see why this one is so angry. Having a female in charge must be incredibly emasculating." Xer'ci punched Seyyir in the shoulder. "Is that why you're such a shit?" She asked dryly, moving to lean against the wall with her arms folded. The Eredar looked down toward the hall. "Keep your mouth shut. Here h comes."