Khorvis

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Everything posted by Khorvis

  1. [[ This is going to be postponed until the Fall. I didn't take the time to drum up enough support to make this successful right now. ]]
  2. As the winter's blanket receded, melting into the Telaari Basin, dreaming glories poked their heads from beneath Nagrand's plains. Clefthooves in heat, talbuks rutting, spring had arrived, and the green grasses made their annual pilgrimage up towards the Red World's sun. The winds gusting off the Twisting Nether whistled past the holy mountain of Oshu'gun, carrying the promise of change and renewal over the barrier hills into the hovels and sanctums of Shattrath City. A rogue breeze slipped through one of the portals to Orgrimmar and rattled the parchment of a freshly printed flyer hanging fro
  3. Chapter One - The Southfury Part One Khorvis slid down from the back of the war wolf, wincing and bending over a fist clutched to his stomach. The old wound given to him by that Sanctuary wench throbbed and ached after the tumultuous galloping across Orgrimmar's western bridge. Up the edgewaters of the Southfury the party had raced at a breakneck pace, chasing the slobbering jowls of their new lupine companion. Only after a mad league did Shmuggles relent, stopping to pant and gorge himself upon river water. The aged orc glanced quizzically at the Blackrock dagger hanging from h
  4. [[ The next, less dour, chapter following Grief. ]] The zeppelin flight from Tirisfal to Orgrimmar had left Khorvis covered from head to toe in kodo vomit. Bes'thra, the orc's trusty mount for the many campaigns since the Horde landed upon Kalimdor's shores, was having none of the early spring turbulence patterns that gusted 'round the Maelstrom. Despite Khorvis's best efforts to placate the wailing beast, wave after wave of partially digested dehydrated dwarf meat (as was her favorite) splashed through the Thundercaller's hold. Considering the unruly headwind and the extended t
  5. Thanks, Kexti. Submitted, and I second a merge with LVM.
  6. Khorvis

    Grief

    He had never before noticed how very overbearing the cloisters of the Grim Halls felt. The curved ceilings hung so low, pressing down upon Khorvis's spirit like a vice. As the passageways stretched on, they seemed to narrow to a thin crevasse through which he would need to wriggle... then get stuck... wedged in a dark cave... Khorvis shook his head and dispelled the image. Sucking in a deep, musty breath through his nostrils, he snatched a lit torch from a nearby sconce and marched onward. It was a foolish notion, for the Grim Halls had now been his sanctum for many years. He knew the twi
  7. Khorvis

    Grief

    Khorvis went by foot from Brill to the gates of Lordaeron City. The road was one of the few still paved in Tirisfal, seeing much traffic between the Undercity and the zeppelin towers. With the Dark Lady having taken the mantle of Warchief, the count of couriers and deathguards had more than doubled in their frantic work to secure the necessary machinery of the Horde's bureaucracy. The orc ignored them all as he made his way up the hill and through the crumbling outer wall. --- Sleep had evaded him during the remainder of the night, despite how fatigued he felt. His meager cot on the seco
  8. Khorvis

    Grief

    [[ A continuation from the finale of Dark Star Rising. ]] The old wooden door of the Gallow's End Tavern swung open with that same familiar creak. The last billows of the squall that had crashed into the Northern coast of Tirisfal whipped into the inn behind the trudging form of Khorvis Bloodstar until he pressed the door shut with a tired grunt. Brill had been only a short march from the Whispering Forests, and the old orc had needed some time and space to clear his head. Exhausted as he was, Khorvis did not fail to notice the guarded looks that the patrons and staff gave the newcom
  9. One of my biggest issues with writing is varying sentence structure. I find that it is where I am least creative and constantly worry that my prose will bore the reader, or unsuspend their disbelief. Example: Hurriedly through the hailstorm, the party ran afoul of a towering yeti. Alternatively: The party ran afoul of a towering yeti while hurrying through the hailstorm. I try to switch up my subject / verb / object order sentence by sentence to create some sort of fluidity, but there always comes a point where I feel as if I'm repeating myself. I'm starting to wonder if I spend
  10. [[ Some brutal metal for Mai'kull ]] "Matron!" Khorvis howled as the dust of the explosion began to settle, much of it still hanging in the silent air. He had seen her valiant sacrifice and tumbling form thrown from the voidlord just before the blast and the ringing in his ears started. Staggering to his feet, the orc shook his head and took two steps towards the scene of the druidess's fall before his boots gave out beneath him and his jaw connected with the chamber floor with a painful click! The wraithlings had descended from the ceiling and were swarming the pool. Two of the fr
  11. Through fire and shadow, the one-eyed pair worked their daggers through the inky flesh of the voidlord. Daggers forged in the Mandate, despite Baal'themar's current tabard, struck true to their nature. Khorvis knew that of all situations, it was in combat that one's true self outed itself. The lamb would nestle and cry in fear. The wolf would show her teeth and seek the heartsblood. These were the commandments of nature, chiseled into the stone of every mortal's flesh. Fanged as they were, many of their strikes simply met smoke and ephemera - this shadowy realm twisted and contorted inten
  12. "Khorvis we've come for you!" The Lasher spun in amazement and nearly took Theira's staff in the jaw. A shadow passed over him and he quickly glimpsed the bladed form of Baal'themar passing above in what could either be an incredibly brave or utterly stupid leap. The elf connected with the voidlord, twin daggers sinking deeply into the aberration's elongated neck. Khorvis felt his muscles sloughing off exhaustion and bruises as the Matron's healing magics took hold, and yet the queerness of the Shadowlands still left an emptiness gaping in the pit of his stomach. Emitting an ear-pier
  13. Edgar emerged from the shadow rift upon all fours, bounding like a blood hound. He circled the immediate hallway, crisscrossing between the legs of Baal'themar and Theira, sniffing the dusty air, before scrambling back through the portal. A pregnant silence was magnified by the muted image of the thunderstorm raging back on the other side in Tirisfal. After a few moments, Boneslave reemerged with Lilliana and Tahzani in tow, periodically spinning to make certain the two trolls followed. Satisfied that the party of five now moved as a unit, the decaying deathknight trotted down the sloping pass
  14. Mai'kull stood resolute as the waves of shadow washed over his robed form. The last traces of the Voidcaller drifted upwards as the gate to the Shadowlands bisected the elemental from earth to crown. An unfortunate end for a creature who had simply desired freedom, but every one had their parts to play. Master and slave, general and grunt, each participant in this ritual must embrace their station. The sacrifice at the hands of Chaoseater spread the way for the party and to their quarry. Through the gateway, a distorted and grayscale passage was revealed bearing all of the hallmarks of Titanic
  15. Edgar Hornridge, servant to the High Inquisitor of The Grim. Slave and bone. His origins were banal. To grandstand the circumstances of his resurrection would be to discredit the honorable history of the Ebon Blade (post-Menethil, to be certain). A creature and cretin of secondhand necromancy, Boneslave could at best be said to embody the subservience of the orcish Peon. And yet, Reviled and Berotten, this peon still had an oddity hidden within the rusting mail of his cuirass. The deathknight moved among the circle of attendees. The reasons of their patronages varied and concerned the cor
  16. Following the Voidcaller, Khorvis emerged slapdashedly within an expansive monstrosity of stone and arches. The reliquary, hitherto undisturbed, vaulted to shadowy heights and was alighted by machinery unfamiliar to the orc. Lines and curvatures resembling the ancient Keepers of Ulduar hearkened to their Titanic originators - indeed, the constellations of pinprick evanescences could only illuminate one conclusion: here was a tomb of the Makers. Khorvis slowed his pace in a spat of momentary wonder. It was a disjointed portrait: a lone orc, painted in the Azerothian hues of life traversing
  17. The squall crashed against the northern coast of Tirisfal. It was unusual for a front to surge southeast from Northrend to Lordaeron, as the Maelstrom often pulled the warm waters from Stranglethorn and Vash’jir to temper the northern kingdoms’ clime, but as An’she set over the far islands of Tol Barad, the North Sea raged against the rocky shoals of the Banshee Queen’s demesne. Pitiless and full of spite, the freezing rains pelted the ancient pines of the Whispering Forest. Salt spray burst over the sentinel cliffs, which had stood as a bulwark to the distant icebergs since the Sundering itse
  18. The window slammed shut once Mai’kull’s concentration failed. Khorvis stood there in panting agony, both physically and emotionally. A brief glimpse at freedom only to be snatched away without so much as a farewell; it nearly broke the old orc’s spirit. He almost despaired, back upon his hands and knees, vomiting whatever lakewater he had inhaled after his fall. Gazing into the slimy reflection of his offal, he caught the glimmer of a candle-light. Khorvis lifted his head and found himself staring up at a hooded creature of the void. Twin lanterns swung from the hulk’s shoulders, framin
  19. Meanwhile, as the intrepid cadre prepared their ritual to pass through the veil into the Shadowlands... ... Bedraggled and breathless, Khorvis slugged his way from the underground lake with the squish and schlomp of soaked boots. The smooth cavern floor gave tenuous purchase to his slippery soles and more than once did he lose his footing and fall to hands and knees. It was during one such of of these abasements that the orc jerked his head upwards at a familiar sound. A voice! "KHORVIS?!" shouted Mai'kull again from the window to Tirisfal. The target of the mage's incredulity crawled
  20. Down the final set of stairs fled the orc. Chiseled into the very bedrock itself, the floor was slick with a musty condensation, like a glass that fogged from the breath of some rancid beast. Khorvis could hear his pursuers not too far behind, perhaps some two hundred yards. They would find his tracks shortly - there could be no rest here. He arrived at the bottom of the descent and came to an ancient well. Though simple in design, it yawned hugely, spanning some twelve feet in diameter with a kneehigh lip of stone. Khorvis peered over the edge. Blackness. There was no bottom to see, and
  21. Ah well, thanks for all the info. I'm going to continue using the RP Collaboration tools for the Penumbra story, since there's already so much there. It might not gain that much publicity, but I'm fine with that. For future roleplay, I may avoid using it unless it is some huge thing that would clog Nether Legends.
  22. Down the crumbling passages of the Grim Halls Khorvis ran at breakneck pace, casting occasional terrified glances over his shoulder. The wraiths still pursued, scabbering along the floors, walls, and ceilings with gnashing maws. The old orc's heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he thought the aged vessel might burst. By the time he had descended below the catacombs, spots were beginning to creep at the edges of his vision. These beasts were unlike any mortals Khorvis could recall: relentless, unswerving, unyielding. Switching paths and circling chambers, he did his best to evade the
  23. "Hrmph! This place DO be queer..." Khorvis muttered as he ascended the secret stair in the High Inquisitor's office, glaring backwards at the desk receding below. The contents of the office had completely changed; no longer did the relics of his past sit above the mantle. The Lasher's desk of resolve too was missing. Instead, relics of a vaguely Tauren descent dominated the quarters. "I must speak with the goblins tasked with housekeeping..." He shook his head and continued his ascent. Passing the still-maimed portraits of Inquisitors, Khorvis mounted the observatory. Strange - according
  24. Khorvis Bloodstar <The Grim> During an investigation of human lore concerning a dark mystery known as Penumbra, Khorvis and other Grim were assaulted in their guild hall by spectres. Khorvis is now trapped in a strange dimension: The Shadowlands. Comrades in the Horde have recently discovered his fate and now move to find a way to free him. Edgar "Boneslave" Hornridge <The Grim> Deserted by his Master (Khorvis), the bumbling and decrepit deathknight wandered into the Coldstar Cantina, desperately trying to rally aid. He has begun to exhibit unsavory traits concerning drink and