Vilmah

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Everything posted by Vilmah

  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
  16. The sky was a pale grey blue, empty of clouds. In spite of the brightness, and the small yellow sun, there was no warmth. White painful cold radiated through her skin, chilling her to the bone. Vilmah Bloodborne lie still, covered in the snow she remembered without much fondness. Somewhere in her memory, she recalled nights alone in exile, her only company the same wolfdog that she was tricked into buying so long ago. Where was he now? Edmund was big enough for her to ride, but only just so. He didn't have the toothy maw of a wolf that most orcs would consider passable, but a constantly w
  17. Had a nice talk with Gun. He seems pretty happy, he was visiting his family and introducing them to his new girlfriend just before we spoke. I feel a little guilty about throwing my troubles at him, considering how well he's been doing. He's always been good to me, I'm not sure it's been very even. Right now he's just about the only person I feel like I can be honest with, and even then, I can't really tell him everything now can I? To think, I felt isolated when I was in exile. I thought it was because I was in exile that I felt that way. Now I wonder if maybe it had nothing to do with me
  18. The Blood War is raging. Garinth is missing. Ridan's mother is dead. Sorathan is dead. Greywind is dead. My chest is heavy and I'm having trouble sleeping. There are things you can't stop from happening, but that doesn't mean I don't feel guilt. I have a duty to serve these people, and I'm failing them. I have tried being conservative with our limited resources, but there are dissenting voices that crave war and revenge. I can't blame them. I want more than anything to find Garinth, and whoever killed Greywind, and tear them apart until my fingers are bloody and I don't feel this guilt any
  19. Thought I'd take some time and visit the cantina tonight. Had an alright time catching up with Tahzani, telling him all about what's happening on Zandalar. I'm not exactly an expert on what's happening, but from what I've seen, I think we can expect big trouble in the future. Killing a loa.. that's something beyond my understanding. If there's one thing Nojinbu taught me, it's to respect the loa, even if you don't understand them. They're powerful, and some might not be in your corner, but there's a certain logic to them so its best to let them be. Gods know I don't have the balls to make an e
  20. Looks like we'll be working with Andorhal in the near future. I'm sending the Colonel a few men to start things off, and it's a good feeling knowing that we have just the kind of people we need for this sort of mission. I'm being noticeably vague, just in case. If I ever read this in the future, know, future me, that I did this for a good reason. Besides, I'm sure you can figure out what it is I'm talking about. You're me, after all. It turns out my father decided to try and communicate with me through my necklace. Lucky for me, I have a shaman to help guide me through this realm of ghost
  21. That's an interesting way to think about it. I also played humans more than I did orcs (when playing the campaign, anyway), back in my WC2 days. But what really drew me to the Horde was the art from that WC2 manual. I was in middle school and I would draw my own banners, and of course I wanted to make an ORCISH banner because they had SKULLS AND BONES! Funny how our feelings about that game shaped what we would become, later.
  22. I've accepted an assignment from Horde High Command. I'm sure that sentence would look confusing to anyone who would read this (and if anyone is reading this, I am going to find you), but the thing is, I actually believe in the mission. Some refugees from Undercity have tried to make a place for themselves in Andorhol. I'm putting a team together to offer assistance, then I'll go and speak to their leader. It seems fairly cut and dry. They're just trying to survive, right? They have the right, and Andorhal was a ruin. Maybe the Forsaken there can actually rebuild. I'm willing to help if it mea
  23. Hey Scoobs!! I remember Brakogar! The Frostwolf Brotherhood eventually became Sanctuary, which is still going strong after... uh... has it been 12 years?? Something like that.. but if you're interested in something akin to what the Frostwolf Brotherhood was, give me a holla!
  24. Let's try this again, before someone else comes to see me. I haven't written anything in a while. I used to just dump all of my emotions into these journals and in the end I'd feel a little better, but I don't know if it ever solved anything. Lately I think I've been dumping most of those emotions into Garinth, poor guy. He doesn't deserve that, even if he is my shaman. He talked through the Night Vanguard business, the fact that our connection to them makes us a target, and that was important for me to keep in mind when I broke our ties with them. Unfortunately, it goes a lot deeper the
  25. "Warchief.. why?" The voice was frail, and then it was gone. Vilmah stood on the ramparts looking down, following the voices toward the sound of chaos and calamity that erupted outside of the city walls. Down in the field, spreading among the already yellow grass and weeds, a green gas was billowing toward the Alliance. In its wake, bodies were falling. It can't be, Vilmah thought to herself, watching the large bodies hit the ground, horns and antlers of the tauren digging into the dirt. The orcs stumbled a few feet, and fell on their faces. The trolls pinned themselves with their tu