Vilmah

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Vilmah last won the day on December 18 2018

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About Vilmah

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  • Birthday 01/14/1984

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  1. To anyone standing amongst the crowds gathered, the air outside of Grommash Hold was thick. Orgrimmar, situated in an already hot and dusty part of Durotar, was roasting at the peak of summer. The smell of sweat from thousands of different Horde citizens mingled alongside the wafting aroma of food from a nearby feast that was being laid out as the crowds waited. Most of them weren’t waiting for the food. They were common folk of all kinds; orcish tradesmen, goblin merchants, Forsaken refugees (to name a few), and their goal wasn’t an invitation to the celebratory feast being laid out for the H
  2. When the wailing came, Gor'mul awoke from a dead-like sleep with a sharp jolt of pain in his side. One of his cellmates had jabbed the orc awake, then shook him as the drowsiness threatened to take him back under. He had been dreaming of a hunt, somewhere long ago on Draenor, where he and Matuya spent days in search of clefthoof. She was an incredible huntress, swift with the bow and somehow able to hide herself within shadows too small for Gor'mul. His hulking mass was enough to frighten the beasts they searched for, but it was Matuya who brought them down. Her earthy brown skin took on a gol
  3. Wind was loud in the Arathi Highlands. Without many trees to dampen the breeze, the sound of wind gusting on more extreme days could often be deafening. It was the only thing that could compete with the whistle in Gor'mul's ears, still ringing months after the Siege of Blackrock Spire. He and the dozens of other males who were transported with him sat listlessly in large cages, built specifically for the once enormous orcish captives. As the wind blew, rattling loose chains nearby, he remembered the way they were brought to this green and rainy place. Dragged by their chains from wagons, they
  4. Gor'mul stared at the chains over his wrists, cold metal stinging his wounds. The humans had no manacles big enough for his orcish frame, or anyone else's. Instead they wrapped thick steel chains around wrists and ankles, binding the few remaining orcs who survived the Siege of Blackrock Spire. A thin tinny sound whistled in Gor'mul's ears, likely caused by the noise of the battle. He couldn't hear the whistle as screams and metal against bone rang out around him, or as he himself roared loud enough to damage his throat until he tasted blood on his tongue. The cacophony of death shielded hi
  5. Matuya wrapped her hands, again, beside constantly refilled bucket of water next to her anvil. Blood seeped through the thin bandages, the same thin skin torn through as she endlessly hammered weapons. The orcess' soft hands were unaccustomed to the forge, but she agreed to do her part long ago. Sweat rolled down her arms, stinging the wounds as she wound the bandages until the blood was hidden again. Eventually she would wrap them again, but she could ignore the pain for a while longer. Lordaeron was coming, and the Blackrock Clan would not allow the Horde to fall short of weapons. A Frostwol
  6. The heat of the forge still warmed Throggok's skin as he retreated from its warmth, a bundle cradled in one arm. The orc, clad in the thin protective leather of a smith, disappeared easily through the other members of the Blackrock Clan as they worked endlessly to repair and forge weapons. Day and night the forges bellowed smoke as swords, axes, pikes and hammers were crafted by their skillful hands. Black calluses, numbed by years of such work, were a point of pride and Throggok could feel his tightening around the precious treasure he held close to his chest. Retreating from the crowded a
  7. Cobrak tore from his two guardsmen to survey the fight, or rather, the toying of Sylvanas with a ragdoll. She was fast, faster than she was at Undercity; either that or the old orc was letting his age get to him. Unlikely, Cobrak thought to himself; Saurfang was as Vyzelok was, too stubborn to let age slow them down. Then, a clean shot on the Banshee; her reeling back. "You are all nothing!" That one cry broke the tension all around the field, and Cobrak couldn't help but stare forward at where the Warchief now doubled down on her condemnation. Deep down, he knew that's what they all were to h
  8. he story of Hellscream tore at him. It was an too familiar feeling. "It be an empty victory. I knew that already...tha dead willnae be brought back by their deaths." His scowl deepened, feeling the air cook around him. He could feel the scratches of her nails on his face, bloody tears made out of desperation. His hands pushed downward, deeper towards an orange pit of molten slag that lit the depths of Grim Batol. The face below was contorted with rage and fury, her shrieking cries of hatred fueling the baleful glare she locked onto him with. The sparkle of lavender light from one such eye be
  9. The flyers were in disarray, the beasts’ minds were seeded with panic aplenty. This allowed him to wholly concentrate on the figure before him. The rifle is brought up once more, a scowl fitting his lips. “I’ll ne’er cow to tha Alliance! Ta traitors who suckle from tha lion’s tit!” He bellowed back, just as defiant as she was. “Look at those gathered at tha gates! Loyal Horde ready to fight ‘gainst scum who’d play nice ta tha people who’ve killed our kin fer years!” His arm swings to the northwest, as though he had picked up her baleful stare and had tossed it towards the gates lined with flag
  10. As the explosion rang through her ears, Vilmah dove for cover. There was bound to be shrapnel, and it came flying toward her in shards of metal that lodged themselves into everything they could find. She managed to get ahead of most of them, but a few pieces bit into her unarmored upper body, burying themselves into her flesh. White hot pain seared through her skin, traveling through her nervous system until they reached her very orcish brain. It responded naturally, pushing out adrenaline, pumping her veins with rage, and allowing her a strength to draw on that would otherwise be dormant. S
  11. Vilmah might have said something else to the warrior, but she was interrupted by a loud grunt of pain. The larger orc doubled over as his arm, protected though it was by armor, suddenly bent at an odd angle as something blew through it. "I'm hit!" He shouted, alerting those around him. Vilmah and the others ducked and if they had them, held up their shields. She turned her head to look in the direction from which the bullet came, but saw nothing beyond the shimmering horizon, wavy with the Durotar heat. "Snipers," she said under her breath. The retaliation was already underway, as mount
  12. The march to Orgrimmar wasn't long. Vilmah marched beside other Horde soldiers, orcs mostly. Many had been disillusioned by Sylvanas' battle plans, but almost all suffered at her command. They were quiet as they marched, but the gathering itself had been rowdy. The orcs there were primarily Vilmah's age, young male and female warriors who knew hunger and war and had grown up in or around Orgrimmar. They were all familiar with the place that they helped to build in some way or another, and the idea of yet another siege left them all feeling angry. War after war, their numbers grew thinner as th
  13. Vilmah sat at Garinth's desk in Razor Hill, a dwindling stack of scrolls in front of her. To her right, a larger stack of finished scrolls were ready to be sent away; orders from Horde Command regarding taxes, which most guilds, especially one of Sanctuary's size, would be required to pay. She didn't mind filling out those scrolls. They usually meant that Sanctuary was doing well, and if they could afford to help pay for the Horde's defense budget she had no problem giving them a percentage of their earnings. They weren't often at the front lines themselves, after all. Someone had to pay for t
  14. I've been reading through Amoola's writing since I heard the news. She was a great writer and a good friend and guild mate. May the eternal sun shine upon her.
  15. Well, Darkshore is a warzone again. A real one, this time. The Night Elves have invoked their goddess and the Horde has asked that we defend the land that we attempted to take. Sylvanas has been plaguing it, so I'm not sure what the point of it all is. Survival? How are we supposed to survive on plagued land? Does she expect us all to go there for the glory of battle and nothing else? We're not that stupid, Sylvanas. The Alliance is expected to attack Andorhol, soon. With them, the Night Vanguard. I can't say I'm at all surprised. Ever since we broke our treaty they've somehow managed to