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Everything posted by Vilmah

  1. Well don't I feel stupid. Brought in Edmund to get patched up and ran into Baern. I don't know him very well, but he seems pretty smart. Gave me a good verbal smack to the face and reminded me that I've got to stop being so self destructive. There's being cautious, and there's being downright crazy. You'd think I'd have learned that lesson by now, but it's difficult. I'm still having a hard time trusting anyone, but I find myself falling into bad habits. Namely, I can't find myself saying no to people I love. My bloodsworn family, the old Sanctuary. They asked me to lead them, but I've got another responsibility to this guild, and that's bringing us all closer together. How am I going to do that when I can hardly put my trust into these new recruits? I've got to think of a way. Maybe I'll head to Outland, ask the Mag'har for guidance. If anyone will know how to rebuild trust, it's them.
  2. A letter has appeared in Tuuroto's mailbox. It has been wrapped carefully in bright purple paper. Tuuroto, Long time no see. Sorry for the cryptic message, but I might have some information regarding the Legion that will directly impact you and your allies. I've heard a pretty disturbing account regarding something that could bring in enough Legion to wipe out Stormwind. Can you meet me somewhere? I think we can help. Meet me in the Underbelly, in Dalaran. -V
  3. Okay, let's try this again. I just bought this book in Orgimmar. Can you believe it? I still have trouble walking through that city, but here I am, walking like any other orc, buying empty journals. I still can't shake the feeling of being followed, but I'm trying. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between active caution and paranoia. Which am I being? Who can even tell, anymore? The Legion is here in disguise. There are still Kor'kron who want me dead. I don't exactly have a death wish, but sometimes I think death is a lot easier than trying to figure out how to live with all this baggage. No, let's not do that. I'm not going to become one of those sad saps who searches for death. That's not me. Need to keep things in perspective. Well, here's some good news. I went to Hammerfall, and with Garinth's help, was able to free some spirits. I think I pissed Garinth off, so I owe him one. Unfortunately that little adventure busted the hell out of my arm, which brings me to another weird coincidence; Broxigan is back. What do I even say about that? I thought he was dead. I thought I was over him being dead, but seeing him again really threw me for a loop. Like all the things I tried to forget are coming back with a vengeance. I guess it would be too much for me to ask for this to be easy. At least now I can get my arm fixed. I'm not going to disappear again, though. With Nojinbu taking my place in the front, I've still got a job to do and that job is doing all the killing for him. If I sound bitter it's because I kind of am. He goes on a spiritual journey to try and rid himself of this anger and discovers he doesn't like killing anymore, okay, that's fine, but someone has to do it or you've just got two people with their backs to the wall. That person has to be me, now, and the fact that I've been enjoying it bothers me. Back before he had no qualms hunting down Kor'kron and killing them one by one, I was coming to terms with how I'd keep myself out of sight, and it involved being hired to do some dirty deeds I am not proud of. Now it seems they're not going to ever end; I'm going to be the one breaking bodies one by one, killing as many as I can, leaving an empire of corpses behind me. It seems like I only live to kill. I used to stand for peace. What do I even stand for, anymore?
  4. She scratched her scalp with her nails and nodded, visibly uncomfortable with what happened underground. "The spirit of the lost children and their guardians were trapped, down there. Trapped by fear," she chuckled awkwardly. "I guess they felt I could relate. Before I came back here, I wasn't really the fearful type. More the unabashedly optomistic type." Vilmah rubbed her sore left shoulder, the arm making irregular sounds. "You set me straight because you told me the truth. It's difficult to admit that maybe everything wasn't my fault, and I don't think I'll ever get rid of the guilt.. but at least I know that I have to move on. What else can you do, right?" She pointed toward the rocks. "All they ever wanted was to be free. Since Garrosh has been gone, I've been free too. Why waste the gift?"
  5. ((Updated significantly.))
  6. "Only my pride..." She grumbled, picking chunks of dead plants out of her hair and in between her armor. She looked worse for wear, covered in dirt and dead leaves, a defeated expression on her face. At her side, her mechanical arm hung limp, a rattling mechanical sound whirring as if something had been disconnected. One of her metal fingers twitched unaturally. Edmund ran to his master's side enthusiastically, his tail wagging back and forth with unbridled excitement. The wolf barked at her feet a few times, jumping as if in an attempt to make her smile. Eventually, she did. "Sorry to make such a mess of things," she said with no small amount of relief in her voice. "I figured out down there that you were right and I was being ridiculous. It's a good thing you set me straight before we fell or things might have turned out differently."
  7. Heavy breathing, panic, pounding heartbeat. It was so loud she couldn't focus, and the enveloping darkness had Vilmah in it's grasp. She could even swear the air was growing thinner with each breath, as if every moment brought her closer to suffocation. Somewhere, she imagined, Garinth was buried alive. Somewhere, she'd caused the death of another ally. Somewhere someone suffered, and she could do nothing to stop it. The guild was as heavy as the darkness. She thought back on what he said. What happened to me doesn't matter. "But it does.." She said to herself. "It was my fault. It's always my fault. Even if we come back.." His voice echoed clearly in her mind. Coming back does not mean being the same person. Her mouth was dry. Even that's what you wanted, life doesn't work that way. Deep breaths. This is not the way for a warrior to behave. This is ridiculous. This is petulent fear, the kind she attempted to abandon long ago, back when every other moment was rescue or be rescued. "Knock it off," she told herself, gripping her one fist. "Get ahold of yourself." With each breath the tightness in her stomach loosened. Vilmah reached toward her chest and felt her own heartbeat, grounding herself. She was alive, and if that was true, Garinth probably was as well. There was still time, but she had to know where she was and why she was here. It was the only way. "...hello?" She said finally, settling in on the sound of her own voice. It echoed enough that she realized that this was a cave. "You brought me down here. Please, who are you?" I brought you here for safety. The voice answered. Be calm, little one. The fight will end soon. The fight? "You're Agrysha's sister, aren't you?" She asked the air. "You brought the children with you to safety, right? When Thrall came?" Yes, the voice sighed. We waited. We're still waiting. The walls, they collapsed. We waited for them to find us, and... "They're gone," Vilmah reassured her. "The humans, they're all gone now. Thrall liberated us. Hammerfall is ours. You and the children, you can go now." How do you know this? Vilmah took another deep breath, remembering. "I was there. I saw what happened. I watched when Doomhammer fell, but the rest of us were free. He gave himself for us to be free, and now you can be too." And who are you to have seen such things? "Bloodborne," the orc said confidently. "Daughter of Bloodborne the Blackrock. He and my mother, of the Frostwolf clan, they both died as well. They are free, now. We are all free." The voice seemed to come from closer than before. I know you. You were one of the children, and yet your mother kept you close. Those that I took with me had no mother to do this. I took them myself.. "You did what you could," Vilmah argued. "And you kept them safe. Now you can join us, above. I promise, no one will hurt them. I swear on my honor." She paused, feeling the apprehension in the spirit. "It wasn't your fault," she reassured the other orcess. "You protected them, and because of you, they always felt safe and loved. You were a mother to them. Now please, set them free." Finally, light. The image of an orcess, young and thin with long ragged hair came into focus before Vilmah. Her illuminated spirit cast light against the cave, revealing it's horrors; the skeletal remains of orcs, mummified by time, their bodies tiny and malnourished. All but for one. By your honor, the spirit repeated, extending her arms. Beside her, a dozen smaller spirits appeared, surrounding the female orc with arms encircling her legs. I will trust in your honor, Bloodborne of the Blackrock. We will be free. The earth shook once more, and Vilmah fell to the ground with a hand over her head. It continued to tremble until more light illuminated the cave, dirt and rocks tumbling all around until a chasm above her opened. She lay there until the tremors stopped, though partially buried under climps of dirt and stones, her armor matted down with wet grass and soil. Above her, she could hear barking.
  8. Well, I guess I'm dead. Vilmah opened her eyes to complete and total darkness. She expected that this was what death would be like; the absence of light, of sound. Unfortunately, there was no absence of smell, and the air was repugnant. Nor was there an absence of pain, which radiated from her missing arm toward her spine. She reached for the appendage and found that her mechanical limb had come loose, and hung limp from the connective straps at her chest. Testing it, she found that only two of her fingers responded. "Shit. Still alive." Her voice echoed. Sitting up, the orcess used her good hand to rub her head. It throbbed like someone had struck her repeatedly with a hammer, which was a fairly common occurrence. Looking around for some kind of light, she cleared her throat. "...hello?" Again, her voice echoed. She stood and waited for something, anything, to indicate an exit. No breeze met her skin or lifted a hair from her head. The air felt stagnant and damp. Just stay here, came a familiar voice. It was calmer, now, and completely filled the chamber. Stay here, we'll be safe. Vilmah looked for the source of the voice, but still saw nothing. She felt her skin prickle with goosebumps and reached out with her one good arm to find something, anything. "Who are you??" She asked frantically, her voice echoing itself repeatedly. "What are you? What did you do with Garinth??" You're both safe, now, the voice answered soothingly, gently. They can't find us, here. "Garinth!!" The orcess shouted, panic in her voice. "Garinth, can you hear me?? Garinth!!" Her heart was pounding loud enough that she could feel it between her ears. Clutching her head with one hand, Vilmah tried to calm herself but found the darkness envelop her. You did it again, gods damn it, she thought to herself. And you dragged someone else down with you.
  9. "This is exactly what I'm talking about.." she said in a low voice, stepping away from the rock formation in front of them. "You think I'm scared for my own safety? That's the last thing I'm worried about. What worries me is exactly what's happening right now. I'm like a lure for trouble, and it only hurts other people. I shouldn't have called you here, and for that I apologize." Another tremor ran through the ground. Reaching behind her, Vilmah grabbed the enormous two-handed sword on her back. It appeared almost light in her hands, if not for the difference in strength between the mechanical one and the real thing. Giving it a few test swings, she pointed toward the rocks. "Thanks for leading me here, but I think whatever is causing this trouble is in there. So I'm going to knock down those rocks, find what's inside, and put an end to it the old fashioned way. Sorry to call you all this way, but it's probably safer if you leave before I start breaking this thing down." Before Vilmah had a chance to make good on her threat however, the ground beneath them cracked. With an angry snarl, the orcess ran for the rock formation and swung her weapon at the rocks in a massive cleave. The rocks shattered, but it didn't stop the tremors. Rather, the tremors became worse, and with them the voice returned. I told you I won't let you have them! "Who are you?!" Vilmah shouted at no one, as the ground behind her opened. No one answered but the earth itself, which opened large enough to swallow both orcs whole.
  10. Vilmah rubbed her forehead, willing herself to take in Garinth's wisdom and not fight it. Typically, spirits could be dealt with on a more metaphysical level; find a way to solidify them and kill them as if they were alive. This was different, and though she couldn't see them she trusted in the shaman's knowledge. "So I'm not just being followed, I'm being haunted," she said with a forced smile, attempting to bring some humor to the situation. "You're probably right. I probably could come back from this, but the truth is that I'm not sure I want to. I don't want to be the same warrior who made all those mistakes because she trusted too much. I refuse to get people hurt again. If something happens to me, so be it, but I won't drag the guild down with me for being stupid. Not again." After a few seconds, her voice lowered and she looked at the half-orc apologetically. "I'm sorry, Garinth. I've been so selfish since I came back. I didn't even stop to consider what happened to you, or how your eyesight returned." The orcess took a deep breath, willing calm into her chest. There was something telling her to go back, to stop walking toward the rock formation. It seemed to permeate through the ground. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but I'm glad it did. You seem a lot more confident than you were, before. Whatever happened to you, I hope it wasn't bad. The Horde, and especially Sanctuary, we're lucky to have you." You will not harm them! The voice returned, angry as ever, screaming with the kind of rage that could be felt in one's bones. Vilmah put her hands over her ears, as if she could muffle the sounds, but quickly realized that she was beeing foolish. Don't come any closer! I am warning you!! "Speaking of which.." She said between clenched teeth, as the ground beneath them once again shifted. "I think we might have found the source of our headache."
  11. The question itself set Vilmah's already hightened state of awareness on edge. It had been a while since anyone actually asked about her well-being, mostly since she attempted to keep things to herself. In this case, it was more difficult, and the idea that he could see that there was a problem deepend her discomfort. "I'm not okay," she admitted immediately. "I'm not going to deny it and I'm not going to ask for sympathy. I did a lot of stupid things when I was younger; put my trust in the wrong people, had faith in those who didn't deserve it.. I paid for my optimism. I lost my arm and my guild in the process. During Garrosh's reign of idiocy, Nojinbu and I were exiled from the Horde. I had to keep myself hidden, because honestly, how many growth stunted one armed orcs are there?" Following Garinth on the strange winding path, she kept a hand on Edmund to ground herself. "It's not easy hiding like that, especially when you still have to fight every day. I did a lot of killing and I'm not proud of any of it. After Garrosh, we were able to come back but now I can't seem to shake this feeling.. like they're still after me. I was right, too. Just the other day some Kor'kron leftover tried to kill me. I was lucky he wasn't much in the way of skills because I put him down, but that sort of thing just goes to show you how bad it's gotten. I can't go anywhere without someone after my blood. I don't think I ever will." Vilmah found her mouth going dry the longer she talked. Whether it was the subject or the strange presence in the air, she couldn't tell. Either way, her voice became shakier the closer they came to a rock formation in the hills nearby. "And you know what's strange about it, Garinth? I used to hate killing and fighting. I used to stand in the front line to take the brunt of it from everyone else because I hated doing the damage myself. Now, after having to do it for so long, that's all I want to do. I can't help myself, anymore. And it feels so natural that I don't even really know who I am, anymore." The two orcs came upon a pile of stones. They seemed to have been there for many years, with moss and plants growing through the cracks. A sapling bridged the gap between the largest stones in the middle, bearing faded flowers that fell to the ground as they approached. Vilmah licked her dry lips and wiped her clammy palms down the sides of her armor. A tightness wound inside of her stomach that felt like a combination of dread and rage. "Long story short, I'm not okay. Sorry to talk your ear off."
  12. "Spirits.." She repeated, both confused and angry. Edmund whimpered sympathetically and nuzzled his master until her breathing calmed. The voices seemed to mimic her own emotions, though she had no idea why. Standing up slowly, Vilmah looked over the damage. It wasn't like any earthquake she'd ever been in, the aftershocks echoed more in her head than in the ground itself. Rubbing her temples, she looked carefully at Garinth. The desire to leave was strong, and truthfully the entire homecoming experience had been, so far, not something she wanted to repeat. "..well, to tell you the truth, I don't. I'd rather leave." Edmund nosed toward the tree, sniffing at fallen leaves and branches. He steadied in on a crack in the ground that seemed to lead in another direction and looked back at the two orcs. A squirrel ran past the wolf in terror. "...but I also think if we don't I'm going to regret it," the orc sighed, angry with herself. "I hate leaving loose ends, and I can't shake the feeling that someone is in need of help. Sorry to drag you into it."
  13. Stay back. It was a female's voice, but not a child. She was an adult, strong and resilient, and her voice commanded respect. I will not let you harm them! As if to make her point clear, the ground shifted. It began with a gentle rumbling, but soon grew into a full-on earthquake. The tree swayed from side to side, reacting to the earth's shaking and parted with some of it's leaves. Vilmah grabbed Garinth by the cape and pulled him away from the tree, in defense of any branches that might fall and knock them both to oblivion. After a few moments, the rumbling stopped, leaving leaves and a few dead branches on the ground. Tears had appeared in the wild grass, as if the ground itself were cracked. Breathing heavily, Vilmah rubbed her temples. Her heart was pounding hard enough that she was sure one could hear it a mile away. "Did you hear that??" She asked frantically, looking around for the source of the voice. "It wasn't just me, right? You heard it. Tell me you heard it!"
  14. "Definitely," Vilmah replied uneasily. Edmund approached Garinth carefully and sniffed at the half-orc. His scent didn't seem to bother the enormous animal, but it did pique his curiousity. His wet black nose went from Garinth's feet to his legs to his groin to his chest until he was standing on his hind legs and sniffing at Garinth's hair. "Ed!" Vilmah said with surprise. "Down, boy! Get down! Sorry about that. He's not usually so nosy.." The wolf went down without argument, but continued to stare at Garinth with expressive brown eyes. Vilmah pointed toward the tree, where an axe had been placed handle-side-down into the ground. It was a fairly average tree, brown trunk, green leaves, but something about it felt off. As if it weren't supposed to be there. "Anyway, the reason I called you over," she said while removing her helmet. "I was asked to bring that axe here by a dying warrior in Stormheim. He said he wanted me to bring it to his son. It seems his son was one of those lost during the liberation of Hammerfall. I actually didn't really know there were many lost during the liberation, I was pretty young myself at the time and it's not something I like to think about.. but anyway, you know I'm not exactly gifted with spirits or listening to spirits or any of that stuff. Yet for some reason, whenever I come here I feel terrible and now I'm starting to hear voices. What I'm trying to say is..." She looked around to make sure they were alone. "Could you check this place out? See if something weird is going on? I just want to know if I'm going crazy or not."
  15. The sudden buzzing in her hearthstone surprised Vilmah. She hadn't moved from her place near the tree for some time, the strange voices in her head came and went with the wind. Recognizing the voice as Garinth, she grabbed the stone and spoke into it, unease in her voice. "Southeast. Head Southeast from the walls until you see a... tree. I'm with my wolf." Edmund had curled up beside Vilmah's feet protectively, his tail twitching every few minutes.
  16. Hammerfall. It was raining when she arrived, which only managed to extend Vilmah’s already spoiled mood. The journey had been long, involved several flights on her own windrider plus a zeppelin. By the time she made it to the Arathi Highlands, she remembered why she’d been so hesitant to think about it in the first place. It was cold, it was damp, it was everything she hated. It was home. Edmund, her wolf, whimpered as they approached the gates. He seemed to react to Vilmah’s own emotions, though she tried to hide her feelings by wearing a helmet large enough to cover her face. The orcs and trolls guarding the outside regarded her with a wave, visibly impressed by her superior armor and weapons. In comparison, Hammerfall’s guards seemed woefully unprepared for attacks, though most of their enemies were simple ogres and a few Witherbark trolls. Inside, the small town had little to offer besides a tradesmen or two. One of them, an orc selling cheap weapons, sat beside a row of empty cages while hammering chain maille back into place. Vilmah winced beneath her helmet. Why did they even keep those cages. “Throm’ka,” she said to the merchant, attempting to sound casual. “I’m looking for an orc by the name of Stonejaw. Do you know him?” The merchant looked up at her, confused. “Stonejaw? Never heard of him.” Vilmah frowned. “His father fell in battle, in Stormheim. He asked me to bring him his axe. You’re sure you’ve never heard of him?” The older orc shrugged. “Not since I’ve been here, and that’s since just after the third war. Though talk to Agrysha. She might know him. She’s been here since before the liberation.” Liberation. The word brought back a lot of memories, most of them bad. “Where can I find her?” Vilmah asked, patting her wolf as she conversed. He was visibly unhappy in this place, though not as much as his master. “She’ll be in the hospital. Doctor. Helping to heal,” he grunted, pointing toward a wooden building. “Dabu,” Vilmah replied, waving as she approached the building. The rain was subsiding a bit, so she took the opportunity to remove her helmet and shake out her damp purple hair. Inside of the hospital were only a few patients; two trolls and an orc lie on bedrolls, resting from injuries. Beside one of the trolls, an older female orc knelt and wrapped bandages over the thick right wrist of a troll. Not wishing to interrupt, Vilmah stood at the door and waited. It was silent but for the slow breathing, the gentle rustling of fabric, the rain. …I don't like it… it’s dark….. Vilmah gasped. “What?!” Agrysha turned to see the younger orc and narrowed her eyebrows. “Please announce yourself quietly,” she said quietly. “These warriors need rest.” Vilmah clutched her chest, breathing heavily. It was a voice she heard, but it seemed only she heard it. The voice was quiet and young, too young to be anyone in Hammerfall. A child? “I… sorry, I came to find someone named Agrysha?” She said quietly, approaching the other orcess. Agrysha stood from her patient and addressed Vilmah cautiously. “I am she. Can we take this outside?” The two females walked out of the hospital quietly, and closed the door behind them. Outside, the air was damp after the rain. The sun was beginning to warm the ground, causing mist to rise. Vilmah cleared her throat. “I uh… sorry. My name is Vilmah, and I’m looking for someone named Stonejaw. I was told you might know where he is?” Agrysha knit her eyebrows in thought. “That is a familiar name. Who is he?” “I’m not sure, he’s the son of a warrior who fell in battle. He asked that his axe,” she pointed to the weapon on her back. “Be brought to a tree? In Hammerfall? I thought that was weird.” “A tree?” The orcess repeated. “I know the tree. I planted it myself. Come, I’ll show you.” Vilmah followed Agrysha outside of Hammerfall’s walls. Edmund walked beside his master, the grey wolf calming at her touch. She scratched between his ears every so often, just to keep their connection calm. She needed him as much as he needed her in that regard. Eventually, they came to a small clearing, where a tree stood alone. Agrysha indicated toward the trunk. “This is it,” the orcess announced sadly. “This is the Tree of the Forgotten.” It wasn’t a particularly large or impressive tree. There were no intricate carvings, nothing to set it apart from the rest. Vilmah approached it apprehensively. “I’ve never heard of it. What is it exactly?” Agrysha shrugged. “Just a memorial. I planted it myself, for my sister, and for the rest.” Vilmah blinked. “The rest?” …can we go out now…. A cold sweat broke out on Vilmah’s skin. She felt her hands become clammy with the sound of a child’s voice in her ears. “Did you hear that!?” “Hear what?” “A… a voice…” she answered, looking around the tree. Edmund whimpered sympathetically. “I heard it… but what, what is this a memorial for? The rest of what?” Agrysha pointed toward Hammerfall. “During the liberation, there were many lives lost. Not just Doomhammer, but those who could not defend themselves. My sister amongst them. She was a shaman, but had no great skills. She and a few others, mostly children, fell during the fight. I planted this tree because… well, I don’t know. I’m not the spiritual type, but shamans commune with nature, right? I thought a tree would help me to remember her. Perhaps this Stonejaw’s son was one of those who were lost.” Vilmah felt her stomach turn. During the liberation, she was old enough to only remember a few things, mostly Thrall. His presence shone brightly amongst the battle and blood, and though she remembered her mother dying in an effort to bring Vilmah to freedom, she could not recall any other children. “…I didn’t know there were other children,” she said, feeling more than a little guilty. “I’m sorry for your sister.” Agrysha shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. Casualties happen in battle. Though we lost many, we gained our freedom. Go on, bring the axe to the tree. I don’t know how this spirit business works, but maybe the Stonejaws can be together.” Vilmah took the axe from her back and sunk the handle into the ground at the base of the tree. It stood straight, looking eerily like a grave marker. …father? “What was that??” Vilmah said, looking toward Agrysha. “You can’t possibly tell me you didn’t hear that??” Agrysha looked at Vilmah skeptically. “I think you must be hearing things, warrior. How long were you in battle?” The younger orc rubbed her forehead. “All my life.” “Well, like I said. I’m not the spiritual type. If you’re hearing voices, maybe you should speak with someone who is. Maybe the earth is trying to talk to you.” “I very much doubt it,” Vilmah grumbled, staring at the axe. “Then maybe,” Agrysha said as she turned from the tree. “You’re just hearing things. Either way, I’d be careful if I were you. A good warrior may not be able to hear the earth, but they can hear emotions. That’s what makes them good at what they do, they can read people, control themselves. There’s a lot of pain in Hammerfall. Maybe that’s what you’re hearing.” The warrior took a step toward the tree and stared. “Maybe it is.” The mist continued to rise as the heat of the morning sun swelled. Somewhere nearby, a troll fought an orc to the death. Vilmah felt her wolf nuzzle her hand, and the smell of wet grass permeated through the air. …I want to go home…
  17. The weather in Stormheim was not pleasant. The vrykul that she battled with constantly seemed accustomed to the elements, but Vilmah was not particularly fond of the rain. The moisture seeped into her armor, making the clothes she wore underneath damp and cold. Her mechanical arm creaked with hidden rust that grew inside of the contraption, despite her best efforts to keep it oiled and well-maintained. With each swing of her enormous two-handed sword, the sound of metal and the feeling of chaffed damp skin made the orcess grit her teeth. “I hate rain,” she said to herself, cleaving through a vrykul’s skull. The humanoid went down with a wet thud, still more rain pouring down on the corpse. He had been trailing her since she’d raided his village on a mission for Sylvannas, and she had no patience for stalkers. Not today. Not in this weather. Wiping off her sword on the wet grass, she heard a groan from nearby. “Hey, you!” Called a gruff voice from a few yards away. Vilmah peered toward the voice. It was coming from a group of bushes. A trap? Perhaps. A reason to continue to be out in the rain? Most definitely. With an irritated sigh, she approached the caller. “What?” Looking up toward the small warrior was another orc. He lay half-hidden in the bushes, a hand over his stomach, which Vilmah realized had been torn open. His intestines had spilled forth like a pile of thick ropes, and his lifeblood grew in a steady pool on the ground. “Heh... just my luck,” he coughed. “Another warrior. Wouldn’t happen to have a priest with you, huh?” She knelt down beside him, grabbing uselessly for some bandages. “No… sorry. Just me.” “Well, a fitting end,” he grunted, closing his eyes. “The glory of battle, ey warrior?” Vilmah tried to hide her scowl. “Sure.” “Listen…” the dying orc said quietly, his breathing slowed. “My name is Hak’gor Stonejaw. I need you to… do this for me. Take my axe,” he commanded. “Take it to Hammerfall. There’s a… a tree there. Leave it there.” The orcess blinked, confused. “Hammerfall?” She repeated. “But why a tree?” “No time…” Stonejaw muttered, his eyes glossing over. “Just… bring it to my son…” There was no more talking after that. Just rain, and the smell of orcish entrails. Vilmah waited until his breathing ended, and shut the orc’s eyelids. He seemed far older than her, his skin slack and weathered. A sick feeling overcame her as felt his dead flesh, but she swallowed the nausea and took up his axe. It was heavy.
  18. The sun was already high in the air as Vilmah walked through Orgimmar. Try as she might to return to the city that once stood as a beacon of hope, she could not get used to the changes. The sights and sounds were still unfamiliar, and harkened back to the dark days of Warchief Hellscream. When Sanctuary was regarded as a band of renegades and traitors, and their guild hall was burned to the ground. When members of their small group were murdered in the name of the Horde and it's justice. Vilmah could never forget the smell of burning flesh, or the sight of orcs mad with power subjugating their supposed allies to their will. Orgimmar would never be her home again after that. Not even as Vol'jin took up the helm, and for a few brief years the Horde seemed to grow stronger once more. That ended all too soon. Vol'jin dead, Thrall mortally wounded, and a new Warchief once again. Vilmah walked through the city that she once knew like an old friend and felt contempt. Still smaller than most orcs, she was at least a considerable enough size not to be disrespected by the citizens of Orgimmar. Her armor was not remarkable, but it was battle worn. They saw her tabard, her size, and her arm. They knew the story; how Vilmah Bloodborne, leader of a guild that fought for Thrall's desire to unite the Horde and Alliance, was thrown into the battle arena and tried as a criminal. How she fought against Laughing Brook, the cannibal tauren, and Blackfist, the orc who attempted to murder their warchief. How the tiny warrior lost her arm, and in a fit of unbridled rage tore into Blackfist's throat with her teeth until he bled to death. They knew her story, even if she tried to forget it. Walking toward the battle arena, she noticed the looks and tried to ignore them. I'm not a child anymore, she thought to herself, clutching the axe against her shoulder in a tight grip. The closer she came to the arena, the louder the memories became. The roar of the crowd demanding her head, the gurgling of Blackfist as he suffocated on his own blood. By the time she made it to the sand of the arena, her remaining hand was shaking. Stop letting it get to you, she repeated in her head, heart pounding. You are not the same orc you were when you fought here. A guard walked by her absently, an enormous orc wearing typical Orgimmar armor. He stopped short of her by a few feet, and though she could not remember his face, he seemed dumbfounded by her presense. "...Bloodborne?" Vilmah smiled. Many looked at her, but few actually spoke to her. "That's right." The orc put down his weapon and approached her carefully, looking around to see if anyone else was around. "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you since.." He nodded toward her arm. With a shrug, the smaller orc walked slowly toward the pens. There were no prisoners inside, and it smelled of sweat and blood. "I don't come back often. I just realized I hadn't been back here in a while. I thought maybe I should pay a visit." The guard nodded firmly. "You fought well. I remember. Your opponents were bigger, stronger even, but you had more will. It won you the day and your honor." "I just wanted to live," she said evenly. Vilmah knelt down to pick up a handfull of sand. It was wet, and crumbled between her fingers. "Which one were you? Which guard?" He shook his head. "I wasn't a guard. I was there for my father." Vilmah blinked and looked up at him. Wordlessly she stood, taking in his appearence. "Your father?" "Blackfist," he said calmly, taking another step toward her. "I am Kaxor Blackfist. You killed my father." The smaller orc did not move. She raised her eyes to meet Kaxor's, and kept her hand tightly wrapped around the handle of her axe. "Yes, I did." Kaxor frowned deeply. "I never thought I would see you again. They say that your left, ran into the mountains and hid. That you abandoned your guild when it was burned. Then I started seeing the purple tabards, again. I heard rumors about you coming back, but I never really thought we would meet. Not here." "Don't tell me," she said dryly. "You've been waiting for me. You want revenge." Without warning, Kaxor drew his axes. They were larger than Vilmah's entire upper body, and he handled them easily. It was then that she realized that by being there alone, there was no way to call for help. She was in the arena once again. "That's right, Bloodborne," he said carefully. "My father should have killed Thrall when he had the chance. That bastard who cheated at Mak'gora, who killed Warchief Hellscream. You know nothing of honor, you or your people. You know only of treachery. Well you won't be eating any part of me, whelp. I am going to take your head, and there is no one here to stop you." Vilmah sighed, her heartbeat steadying. Before, when she came to Orgimmar, it fluttered like a bird. Now, as she felt the rush of combat, a strange calm overtook her. "Well, that's where your wrong," she said with a smile. "See, none of that matters." Kaxor grit his teeth and closed the gap between them, axes shaking with rage. "You are going to die in the sand!" He shouted, cutting through the air toward her with a blinding speed. "Where you should have died, years ago!" His rage, however, was enough of an opportunity for Vilmah. Smaller than him by a head, she ducked his axes and slid between the larger orc's legs. With his massive bulk encumbering him, she had just enough time to swing her axe at his side. It was one of the quickest battles of her life, but he was inexperienced. "I told you," she said calmly, ripping the axe head from his body, blood and steaming entrails spilling into the sand. The red and black pile of innards hissed as they hit the hot ground. "None of it matters." Kaxor fell into the ground, reaching up toward her with a shaking hand as he bled out. "H... how...?" Chuckling awkwardly, Vilmah gave Kaxor a final smile. "How? You have the nerve to ask me how? It's easy. It's because there's nothing you or anyone can ever do to me that I haven't already felt before. My friends have died. My heart's been broken. I had to kill my own father. You think killing me would do anything? You're stupider than I was at your age. I almost wish you had a better chance, but one thing is for certain," she stepped on his throat, suffocating the bleeding orc as he faded. "I'm not going out like your idiot father. Or like you. Your name dies with you." After a few short moments, the struggling beneath her boot calmed. Kaxor's body was limp, and Vilmah lifted her foot. The fluttering of his eyelids gave her all the reason she needed to once again swing her axe toward his throat, and cleanly severed his head. Reaching down to pick it up, she threw it toward the middle of the arena. Only moments later, a troll warrior approached her, eyes wide with shock and recognition. "You--" "You saw what happened?" She asked him firmly. The troll nodded. "Y... ya mon. 'e tried ta cut ya down." "That's right," she said with a nod, hoisting her axe back on her shoulder. "Self defense, you know? He wasn't very smart to try and pick a fight with someone like me." "Y-ya but..." The troll followed her as she walked from the arena. "Why 'e gonna try an' do dat, anyway? Who you be?" Spinning on one foot, Vilmah turned to face the troll. She smiled, laughter erupting from her belly as she answered him. "That's an easy one. I'm Vilmah Bloodborne."
  19. Noj and I are coming. There will be much crazy.
  20. Vilmah stood at the precipice of a hill in Nagrand. She had been there for weeks, separated from her friends and family, her hearth stone hidden in a bag she left behind. Every once in a while, it struck her. The fire, screams and pain of a battle long since fought would erupt in her memory and demand that she remove herself from society. It was either that or bury herself in blood fury, allow the curse of Mannoroth to consume her and become the same orc that might have fought for supremacy in Nagrand. She had been close, this time. In highmaul, the fought ogres. An old foe of her race, it shouldn't have been any issue, but she witnessed the death of a comrade. Vilmah didn't even know the orc who fell beside her, his head smashed into the dirt like a ripe melon. It might not have phased her, but one of his eyes remained. It stared up at her in accusation. How is it I fell and you still stand? You're not half the warrior I was. The orc stepped back. The battle was over, and the group claimed their prize, but she did not join them. Nausea ate at her stomach and Edmund, whimpering despite his enormous size, nuzzled her hand. Without thinking of the consequences, she mounted the wolf and kicked his sides, prompting him to run. He ran through Highmaul, through bodies of the dead, through bones and blood until she couldn't smell their corpses any longer. Finally, with the sounds of steel and spells behind her, she stopped. Nagrand was beautiful, but her heart still raced. Sliding off of Edmund's back, she vomited into the grass and waited for the nausea to pass. "..it may take a while, this time," she said to the wolf. He lay down beside her, and waited for the orc to make camp.
  21. "Well.." The orc scratched her head, looking at the card. Self reflection? There hadn't been much time for that lately, but the card was pretty. She inspected it closely, trying to decipher it's meaning. A tauren and a lion? The tauren looked innocent, and the lion seemed tame. Was it a hunter? Vilmah was not a hunter, but she did like animals. The tauren seemed to have tamed the lion, and they were at peace with one another. Calmness and calmness, together, though Vilmah's experience with lions was anything but. They were usually aggressive and territorial beasts, as opposed to most of her tauren friends, who were always so warm and welcoming. So two opposites, working in harmony? It seemed like something she would have related to, before Garrosh. "Maybe," she attempted to answer, searching for the right words. "..this is the sort of thing I look for? Aggression turned peaceful? Though it's the nature of the lion to be aggressive, and for him to hold back is for him to deny his instinct." Vilmah twisted her mouth in thought. This was something she was told often. "Like orcs, I guess," she continued, looking to Tuuro as if she were confessing. "Like me. I've always been told that we're naturally aggressive, and that my goals for creating peace between races is just denying my instinct. I looked to people like the tauren for guidance, but maybe this is the truth. We're like lions on a leash. We may be gentle for a time, but sooner or later, something will happen, and.." Nervously, she combed back a few stray strands of purple hair. "Well, I wouldn't think of myself as a lion. I don't think I'm anywhere nearly as coordinated," she chuckled nervously.
  22. The orc's head bobbed as she listened, her ears unused to hearing the common language translated so well. It was both impressive and fascinating. "...Strong yet soft." She blushed awkwardly. "Uh.." She stammered. "..thanks." Vilmah wasn't expecting a compliment in this hostile environment, especially not from a Draenei. "...reminds me, I could use nice hot spriiings bath right 'bout now! Vouldn't you?" The orc blinked, caught off guard. "I.. uh--" "Zhese voods aren't nearly as comfortable as ze Redblades..." With so many questions and answers, Vilmah's head felt fuzzy. Was he trying to confuse her? Or did this Draenei simply enjoy talking? He seemed friendly enough, but she wondered if he may not have realized what a hostile territory they were in. "...you doin' in zuch dangerous place, anyvays?" She waited for him to answer himself, then realize that he expected her to talk. "What was.. oh! I was helping the Arakkoa Outcasts. You know, the uh.." She lifted one of her arms and mimicked it hanging uselessly. "The ones who can't fly? They're being horribly oppressed by the others. It's really sad, you know? They asked for help, so I came to help them. I really hate seeing people hurt like that.." Clearing her throat, she indicated toward the dead body a few feet away. "I was trying to save the ones they enslaved. Help them get to safety, but, I guess I was caught off guard. It was pretty stupid on my part. I apologize for getting you mixed up in it, but uhm.. can I ask you something?" Vilmah pointed toward the tarot cards. "..what's up with those?"
  23. This was perhaps the strangest draenei Vilmah had ever encountered. She understood that they would probably not be able to understand one another. In fact, she expected there to be some kind of animosity between them, despite the fact that he rescued her. Perhaps, she imagined, he did it for some sinister purpose. Years of mistrust had removed the kind thoughts that Vilmah usually projected on to strangers, leaving behind a skeptical paranoia. She was ready for a fight, even if she hoped that there would not be one, and found instead that he was smiling. He was smiling a lot! "Bur! Bo'kia, av fa bala aggra!" He said, gibberish in her mind, but clearly the language he was used to speaking. Then came his hands. Panic washed over the orc as he touched her throat, and both hands went to her weapons. Her axe was far from her, but there were still a few knives hidden on her person; in her belt, in her boot, under her sleeve. Her hand went for the boot knife, but he didn't seem to do anything violent. He simply turned her neck left and right, as if examining her. The feeling of someone else's hands on her felt awkward, and a thin layer of sweat appeared on her forehead. What is he doing? She asked herself, hand twitching for the knife. But he released her soon enough, and in a deep booming voice, chanted his language. Now, she thought to herself, grabbing the knife handle. Now is when the fight begins.. I can probably get to his throat with this, but I'll need to be quick. The artery on his thigh might be better. I'll have to get in low to bleed him out, and-- "Can you 'ear me now, dah?" She dropped the knife. Her brown eyes went wide with understanding. "I am called Tuuroto. Tuuroto ze Starseer. Varm pleasure smiles, dah." Vilmah was speechless, her mouth dry. For a few seconds, she stared at the draenei, the weapons forgotten, her mind racing. He might have killed her, or at least attacked. That he took the time to not only rescue her, but speak to her as well, was a sign that maybe things weren't so bad after all. "H.. hello, Turroto. I'm Vilmah Bloodborne," she said cautiously, finally standing up straight. Her head stilled throbbed, but she tried to push the pain from her mind. "Am I to assume that you helped me? Because it seems like you did, so.. thank you. I appreciate it. Are you okay?"
  24. Rose took her time getting back to Aerie Peak. The Wildhammers were typically welcoming of the young human, if not curious about her way of dressing. She walked inside easily enough, though she made certain to take extra precaution in avoiding Naheal's traps on the way. It was nearly nightfall by the time she walked inside, stealing a glance at the griffon riders. They had always excited and fascinated her. "Where ye been, lass?" Asked one of the guards, a male dwarf with bright red hair. He seemed genuinely concerned that she was out alone. "Track-ang," she answered, her accent still rough. Rose had often had trouble speaking Common, since spending much of her youth speaking Orcish with a Drakkari accent. "Trackin', aye?" The dwarf chuckled. "You should be more careful! There's all sorts o' nasty things out there, waitin' ta gobble a little lass like you right up! Why, I saw orcs out there not too recently! Big green naaaasty orcs," he chuckled, wiggling his hands for emphasis. Rose tried not to roll her eyes. "Found a man," she said quickly. "Said bad 'tings comin'. Grim. Got ta get ready." The guard furrowed his brow. "What do ye mean 'Grim'? Who told ye that word?" "Grim. Horde Grim," she said impatiently, pointing toward his hammer. "Gotta get ready. Outside. Gonna come." The guard's eyes went wide. "They.. they sent ye to tell us?" Rose shook her head. "No. Other man. Elf man. Good! He told me, warn you. Warn you all. Grim comin'." The dwarf grit his teeth. "Oh he did, did 'e? I'll bet 'ats the one been takin' shots at us! Ey lads!!" He shouted toward his fellow Wildhammers, walking the perimiter. :Looks like we got an elf outside causin' trouble! Lets show 'em what we can do, ay?" "No!" Rose shouted, stamping her foot. "Elf is GOOD! Grim is BAD! Grim coming, gotta get ready for GRIM!" "S'alright lass, nothin' ta worry about no more," the guard chuckled, patting her head. "Now you be a good girl an' stay inside! We're goin' ta find that nasty old elf an' show 'im who's boss!" Rose shouted at the Wildhammers, but they were too excited at the prospect of busting some heads to listen.
  25. The human smiled brightly and gave an embellished bow, a few stray hairs falling into her eyes. Rose swept them back with a hand and straightened her leather jerkin. "My name's Rosette, Mister Malster. Ya sure are fancy." Without caution, she approached the elf and began circling him. He seemed well-armed, but mostly covered. "I can make it back by myself. I ran away so I could learn to track. I'm not bad, s'why I dodged lots o' ya traps. They're okay, I guess. Whatcha doin' out here by ya'self, Mister Malster?" She asked at last. "And 'ow come ya warnin' 'em? The dwarves don' like elves too much.."