The Good 'Ole days

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((written by my dearest leibowitz whom shall becoming to this server more frequently, this is just bait soon we'll host events etc etc, this is just a small taste i hope you enjoy it. ))

The orc dreamed of battle, of an endless sea of struggling forms, ripping and tearing, hacking and crushing, roaring and screaming and moaning in pain.

He awoke with a start. The wet wood of the fire had filled the hut with smoke, but he could just make out a cloaked and hooded figure, skeleton-thin, staring at him through the haze.

Panic rose within him. He struggled to rise from his bed of hides, but his emaciated body would not obey him. "No," he wheezed. "Not like this. Let me die like Grom, blood on my axe and... and harness on my back. Not here. Not like this."

"Calm yourself." The voice echoed hollowly in his mind. "I am the Doctor. I am here to make you well."

The orc reached weakly for his axe. "Who... who sent you. Don't... know you. Rip your arms off."

"Apothecary Helbrim." The voice seemed to come from far away, from down dark halls. "He worries about you. You haven't come by to purchase your rage potions. Thirty each week, mmyes?"

"Need them to keep... keep fighting. For Grom."

"Hrm. Mmyes... things just haven't been the same since you lost the Hellscream, have they?"

"So weak."The orc fell back, panting. "So cold."

"Worry not, noble greenskin." The hooded face was hanging over him now. How had he let it get so close? "I have just the medicine to set you right." The Doctor set a small vial in the orc's hand, and gently closed his fingers around it.

"You're... one of those Forsaken. The ghosts who walk. Won't drink your... your poison. Kill you."

"Mmyes... I understand compleatly. It's natural to fear..."

"No! No fear!" The orc snarled, and brought the vial to his mouth. He ripped the cork out with his tusks and drained the dark, steaming liquid down his throat.

"Ahh, eeeexcellent..." The skeleton grin withdrew from his vision. The Forsaken backed away. "Tell me, with detail and precision... how does it feel?"

The orc coughed. "Burns. Like drinking boiling pitch."

"Hrm, yes, as expected. Continue."

The orc spasmed, his back arching. "Burns! Burns, in every vein, every muscle! Aaaargh!"

The orc writhed on the soiled furs. He spat blood, a dark spatter across the dirt floor, then rose shakily to his feet. His wracked and wasted body shivered, and a dim red light appeared in his eyes.

"Burns... like battle. Like rage. Strength. Hate. Twisting Nether, Fallen Five, and Grom, I feel..."

"Yesss... Yes, tell me."

"Feel like... the good old days!" The orc threw his head back and laughed, hoarse and ragged. His eyes glowed brighter, casting dancing red shadows on the leather walls of the hut. He shook like a tree in a tempest, and steam rose from him.

The laughter choked off. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes began to smoke, then vanished in a flash of yellow flame. He screamed, high and shatteringly loud.

"Bastard!" He roared. "Traitor! You've blinded me! Coward! Witch! Hurt you! Slay you! Tear your gut! Crush your heart!" His ruined eyes still smoking, he charged across the room. Blood poured from his snout and ears.

The Forsaken scrambled aside. "Azjek! Kill!"

An armored troll tore through the wall, cackling madly. He leaped on the orc's back and thrashed at him with a mace. The orc roared and fell to the ground. Long after he stopped struggling, the troll continued to kick and smash his broken body, giggling like a cruel child.

The Forsaken brushed dust and soot from his robes. "Hrm. An additional cycle of distillation and purification may be in order, but I believe this may be regarded as a limited success." He stalked to the doorway, then paused.

"Mmyes... bring the corpse. Burn the hovel."

Hours later, smoke still rose from the smouldering embers of the hut, shrouding the stars and staining the moon.

((So here's the RP bait part...

Through the taverns and barrack-halls of the Horde, a rumor spreads like a virulent contagion. Scar-eyed orcs whisper to trolls with belts of shrunken heads that a new potion has been discovered. They say it makes you strong and fast. They say it makes you feel no pain. They say it gives your spells the power of the roaring Maelstrom, and your arm the might of Titans. They say it's ancient troll hoodoo, or the blood of dragons, or they say it doesn't exist.

A few who ask the right (or possibly very wrong) questions might find their way to a certain Doctor J. P. Leibowitz, who will, of course, deny everything... unless perhaps you want a taste.))

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Thin hands rub the bubbles out of the parchment she had tacked up to a post in Shattrath.

where other bits of advertisements can be seen. A simple address in stained in violet ink.

"Undercity Care of R.A.S Send all inquires to Dr.Leibowitz."

She walks away as quickly as she came, a ghost amongst the masses of merchants and guards.

(bump for more minions xD and for leibowitz)

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