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Everything posted by RiktheRed21

  1. Brinnea sat on top of a hill overlooking a verdant field in the midst of which sat a village whose name she did not recall. It didn’t ultimately matter who they were; what she planned to do was what troubled her mind. Only five years ago, she would have never contemplated such a thing as what she had in mind for the residents of the village. But that was then, when she had lived comfortably in the home of her loving husband, expecting their first child. When her only worries were the ever growing appetite brought on by her pregnancy. Since then, everything had changed. That loving husband had turned rotten and cruel, until he perished. Their child was taken, as were their lives. Time and again, the strong took what her family had: their homes, their livelihoods, and finally their lives. The cruelty had to stop. Brinnea recalled what she was told had happened to Skylah. She had been beaten, bloodied, tortured, and damn near killed! But when she tried to imagine the look of terror on the priestess’ face, all Brinnea could see was her mother’s face, or her father’s. The Grim was torturing her family. It was time to see justice done. The death knight began to walk. Rage billowed in her cold, black heart. The air grew colder, more oppressive. Each step she took stripped the life from the very ground she trod upon. Each step brought her closer to the village in the distance. Once she had come near the border of the village, tauren Braves aimed rifles fitted with hawk feathers toward her, shouting in their native tongue. Brinnea did not understand the words, but she knew what they meant. They wanted her to stop. So she put a hand on one of her blades and replied, “It will all be over soon…” The weapon flashed brilliant blue and in a flash, one of the Braves had been pulled to her by chains of ice. Her blade had pierced his chest and his fellow kinsmen had accidentally shot him in the back. It all happened so fast no one knew how to react. No one except for Brinnea. She lifted the corpse over her head and flung it into the village. A strand of dark energy flowed from the wound in his chest, originating from the death knight’s sword. The dead tauren rose from the ground, and turned against his former comrades-in-arms. But that was not enough. Brinnea strode into the village proper, killing as she went. Each death was a new soldier in her army. The more soldiers that followed her, the more her mind fragmented. She began seeing strange images around her, faces of those she remembered, and some she did not. And the figure, the woman she had sought in her dreams, she was there as well. Her presence drove bloodlust into Brin’s mind like a spike pitching a tent. This lost memory taunted her, faceless and nameless, while she sought to free her family from their torment? She would have none of it. She drove the image from her mind and carried on with her task. At last, the village guardians all stood at her back, dead. The non-combatants huddled together in the village center, some weeping, some cursing, but not one of them stood to challenge the death knight who had butchered her way into their home. She regarded the innocents with apathetic eyes. She told herself, they deserve this. And why not? She had suffered, the whole world had suffered! Why did they get to live here, peacefully, while those who they had chosen to protect them committed atrocities? Brin walked forward, staring a kneeling tauren woman in the eye. The creature stared back, fear laced in her wrinkled face. Brin lunged. The tauren tried to back up, but the death knight was too quick, and caught her by the horn. She dragged the villager out of the circle of innocents and held her to the side as she regarded the crowd. “Villagers of Mulgore,” she began in Common, not caring if they could understand or not, “I came here to find someone precious to me! Until your Horde sees fit to release her, I will kill any of their soldiers that seek to put a stop to my efforts. You will be my leverage. If any of you tries to escape, I will kill you and let your fallen kin consume your flesh.” In one swift motion, she yanked the tauren’s horn off. Her howls of pain fed Brin’s need for bloodshed and punishment. It felt good, but she hate that it did. Whatever became of her when this was all over, Brin no longer cared. If the Grim wanted a fight, let it be with her alone, so no more of her family would come to harm. To see her family safe, she would sacrifice any number of the Horde. The tauren woman was returned to the circle, still whimpering over the pain in her head. Brinnea extended her resolve to the rest of her undead gathering. They would not fall as quickly as most of her ghouls did. No, she would make certain the Horde would have to bathe through a river of their own friend’s corpses to get to her. That was the life she had lived. Now was the time to see who had the will to face her. Brinnea looked down at her tabard. The twin lions of the Twilight Empire were caked in blood and gore. Someone had to get their hands dirty, but the Empire should not be dragged into it. With great difficulty, she gripped the collar of the tabard, and tore it apart.
  2. ((I don't know what the limits of magical healing are, but under normal circumstances, I don't think Skylah's ever walking again without crutches or a prosthetic. Also I don't think that bullet went through clean, so lead poisoning could cause some other complications. Plus with the hook in the shoulder, she'll be lucky to be able to use her arm after this is over. So, yeah, I would not want to be Sky right about now.))
  3. Brinnea’s better judgement told her what she was about to do was foolish, rash, and could very easily get her killed. She dismissed these thoughts. Now was the time for some decisive action. She was tired of people taking advantage of her family. She steeled her mind as her cloud serpent descended into the bay at the southern tip of Stranglethorn. After landing, she found the shadiest corner of the city and approached a group of goblins in the middle of some sort of deal. The goblins turned, abruptly cutting off their conversation as Brinnea approached. One of them, a woman with thick green hair, glared at her and said, “This is a private meeting, pal! Why don’t you scurry off and bother someone else?” Brin rested a hand on one of her sabers casually and replied, “I’d like to speak with Ephraim Duhfek.” The dealers’ eyes were all fixed on her now. Some of them started chuckling. The woman in front did not seem amused in the slightest. “You have the nerve to demand a meeting, after all you did…and you don’t even send a note first? That’s just disrespectful.” She snapped her fingers and a pair of hobgoblin bruisers stepped out from a nearby hut. The goblin pointed at the death knight and scooted out of the way as they hobbled toward her. Brin didn’t bother drawing her weapons. The brutes lazily swung their wooden clubs at her, and she caught them one in each hand. Then she tugged on them, disarming the hulking simpletons in a swift motion. She delivered a pair of strikes to each of their heads, and they went down with a loud grunt. The goblins were already scurrying away, but Brinnea death-gripped the mouthy green-haired one back to the alley. “P-p-please,” the goblin said, trembling, “Don’t kill me like you did Remy! I’ll t-t-take you to Ephraim, I swear!” Brin flashed a false smile. “Lead the way, preferably through the backways, we wouldn’t want a misunderstanding with the city guards after all.” The pair of them made their way through the allies to a small fish butchery on the edge of the water. The back entrance was blocked by four guards, two goblin bruisers and a pair of hobgoblins. The goblin escorting Brin got some strange looks from the guards, but she cleared up the confusion, saying, “New muscle, boys. Nothing to worry about!” They were allowed in, but after taking a few steps, Brin took a sharp blow to the back of her head and was blinded by a linen sack. She felt her weapons get stripped off her belt and then a rough hand dragged her into another room. After the bruisers had sufficiently bloodied Brin with their clubs, she was tossed into another room, where the sack was removed from her head. Looking around, she counted a dozen goblins, armed with knives and wooden bats fitted with rusty nails. The sound of slow clapping rang out from behind a pair of the bruisers. A familiar shrewd voice echoed throughout the small room, “This is rich! I spend months, nay, years searching for you, tracking you down, sending hit squads after you across two different planets, spending only the Light knows how much gold, and you see fit to come to me after all this time.” Ephraim Duhfek shuffled into the circle, his bruisers at his back. He made a tsk noise and shook his head at Brinnea. “You sure know how to ruin an old goblin’s fun.” As Brin began to stand, all dozen of Duhfek’s bodyguards raised their weapons. She looked the goblin in his sharp green eyes and said, “I came to ask some questions.” The goblins stared for a moment. Duhfek let out a hysterical laugh, and the rest quickly followed suit. “Some questions?! Oh, this is richer than a frosted chocolate ca—“ A sharp crack cut the goblin off. Brinnea had sprung faster than one might have expected from a death knight in full plate armor. She grappled the nearest bruiser and snatched the weapon from his hand, then cracked him over the head with it, all in one swift motion. The two goblins on either side of her lunged, one aiming to kneecap her, the other slashing at her waist with his knife. Brin threw her newly acquired club at the knife, knocking it free from the bruiser’s hand. She swung around and parried the other goblin’s club before breaking her own across his head. As the rest of them closed in, Brin swirled around again, grabbing a surprised looking bruiser by the collar and hurling him into a gathering back of his buddies. The other half leapt on her back, dogpile her in a flurry of clubbing and stabbing. She struggled against their assault, allowing her plate armor deflected the knives. Brin called on the power of her runes and froze the air around her. The goblin’s attacks slowed, even as the others started to pile on as well. With all her strength, she shook the goblins off. She charged one, kicked him, and then moved to the next one. One by one she bruised the bruisers until they were all disarmed and unconscious. The room grew quiet. Brin faced the exit, and saw Duhfek opening it to escape. Thinking quickly, she grabbed one of the bruisers trying to limp away and tossed him at the door, forcing it to slam shut. Then she death-gripped a shocked Ephraim back to her, grabbed him by the shirt, and lifted him far off his feet. The goblin snarled under his breath. “Are you going to send me to my brother, huh? Huh?!” Brin kept her face void of any expression and her voice calm and steady. “Only if you give me a reason to. Like I said, I have a few questions for you.” Brin pressed the goblin up against a wall forcefully. “You have ears all over, huh? That’s what I’ve heard. So tell me, what do you know about a kidnapping in the Barrens?” The goblin snorted. “The Barrens? The entire Barrens? Lady, there’s kidnappings everywhere, especially in that shithole.” Brin backed up a bit and slammed the goblin back into the wall. He yelped in pain at the impact. A small flicker lit up in the back of Brin’s mind. A flicker of amusement. She snuffed it out immediately and focused. “Fine then, let me be more specific. The Cup and Caravan was travelling through the Barrens last week. One of the Twilight Empire was with them, a priestess. She was taken, and I want to know who did it.” The goblin groaned from the pain in his back. He spoke again, this time more carefully, “I don’t know nothin’ about that. You want word on the Barrens, you go to Ratchet.” Brin replied, “Fine, next question. What does the phrase, ‘Peace through annihilation’ mean to you?” The goblin looked stunned for a moment, then started laughing. Brin narrowed her eyes. “What’s the joke?” “You- you’re friend? She’s dead! Oh, the gods do have a sense of humor after all—,“ Brin threw the goblin across the room. He rolled into the wall opposite from Brin, groaning and coughing, but still laughing lightly. The death knight picked him back up and slammed him against the new wall. The goblin continued raggedly, “That phrase…was coined by a Horde-based group…called the Grim. They don’t take prisoners…at least not for long. They only care about killing Alliance, or anyone else the Horde says is their enemy.” Brin held the goblin up, not saying anything for a while. Finally she said, “And where can I find them?” The goblin replied, “I don’t keep tabs on them! Far as I know, they haven’t killed anyone I particularly care about.” Brin’s fists tightened. “But! But, but but, if they did take this friend of yours from the Barrens, they’ll be keeping her in Horde territory. So if you want to go in half- or fully- cocked, be my guest. No skin off my nose.” Clamoring echoed in from the next room. More bruisers were likely on their way to find out what was taking their boss so long. Brin let Duhfek go and made for the door. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A few minutes later and she was in the air again. Her body was bruised and many of her bones were broken, but she didn’t feel any of it. She couldn’t. Whoever the Grim was, whatever it was they wanted with Skylah, Brinnea was going to make them bleed for what they had done. No one would bring harm to her family while she had the strength to defend them. Not anymore.
  4. My username is RiktheRed21. I've been looking for a good Minecraft server for years.
  5. Full Name: Brinnea Velmon Nicknames: Brin, The Butcher of Kaur'he Date of Birth: December 21 Age: 28 Race: Human (Undead) Gender: Female Hair: Dark Red Skin: Freckled Eyes: Icy Blue (Light Grey while alive) Height: 5'8'' Weight: 131 lbs Place of residence: None Place of Birth: Andorhal, Western Plaguelands (Formerly Lordaeron) Known Relatives: Torven (father, deceased), Maria (mother, deceased), Parigan Blackmane (husband, deceased), Charlotte Velmon (Daughter), Esmerra (Sister-in-law, deceased), Christa (sister), August Corman (adopted son) Religion/Philosophy: Church of the Holy Light Enemies: Thunder Bluff, The Horde, Gilneas, The Burning Legion Likes: Reading, quiet study, sword-fighting, and riding horses Favorite Foods: Bacon, eggplant, pork Favorite Drinks: Pandaren Tea, eggnog Favorite Colors: Blue Sexual Preference: Asexual Weapons of Choice: Swords, knives, and lances Dislikes: Large crowds, tight places, and awkward situations Hobbies: Reading, writing, geology, metalwork, playing the harp, and some poetry Physical Features: Short-cut dark red hair, death knight's blue eyes. Light skinned, freckled skin, hard and stiff features. Lacks emotion most of the time. Despite her average form, she moves swiftly wearing heavy armor in battle. Has a curved scar under each eye and her left forearm is discolored in the veins, appearing completely black. Special Abilities: Mastery over frost magic, runic spells that absorb magical attacks and auras, immense strength and resilience to pain, mastery of the sword, mastery of mounted combat, especially with a lance, and well-versed in blood magic and necromancy. Weaknesses: Light spells, mental magic, fast opponents, and fire Positive Personality Traits: Has a creative and original mind, greatly insightful on a multitude of topics. Inspiring in her selfless acts, and convincing in her honesty. Acts decisively and suppresses her many doubts and regrets behind a mask of icy indifference. When she has a cause to fight for, she fights tooth and nail for it. Her passion, though concealed by her coldness, burns hotly, and her steely determination makes her unbendable. Negative Personality Traits: Sensitive to criticism and can make poor decisions when pushed to extremes. Extremely private, withdrawn, and hard to get to know. This makes her a good liar and a painstakingly hard person to befriend. Overly perfectionistic and self-critical to the point of absurdity. Puts in far too much extra work to make any given project turn out just right. Tends to look neat, almost unnervingly so. Finds herself lost without a cause to fight for. If she feels she cannot do anything, she may make drastic decisions that are self-hindering or even outwardly destructive. Despite being undead, she can mentally exhaust herself until she can no longer tolerate interacting with others. Music: "I May Fall" by Jeff Williams, feat. Casey Lee Williams & Lamar Hall "Still Alive" by Lisa Miskovsky “Life in Ruins” from The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult “Perp Walk” from Daredevil Season 3 “In Hushed Whispers” from Dragon Age: Inquisition “Home” by Gabrielle Aplin "Home" (feat. Casey Lee Williams) by Jeff Williams "Calling to the Night" sung by Natasha Farrow History: Born in Andorhal to Torven and Maria Velmon, the second of their children, and third to her father. Grew up happily, hoping to be a mage someday like Torven. When her half-brother Owen was reported dead on the battlefield against the orcish cultists, Brinnea witnessed her father turn from a caring teacher to a cruel drunkard. He became progressively more abusive until the family was forced to flee their home, leaving Torven to face the coming Scourge War alon From Andorhal, they fled to the capital. On the road, the three women encountered a necromancer preparing for the Cult of the Damned's uprising. The mage cursed Maria's heart before he died, which would cut the woman's life short by many years. They reached the capital in time to watch Arthas return, and in the chaos that followed, they managed to flee south to Gilneas. Though the kingdom was not allowing refugees, they managed to catch an illegal ferry into the country thanks to the actions of rebels. Brinnea met Parigan Blackmane, the second son of a well-known noble, and the two fell in love. Though she never felt particularly interested in sex, she held the idea of having a family of her own close to her heart, and so in time the two married. Parigan was kind and dedicated to her, but his desire to help those who were oppressed by the aristocracy brought him to a conflict with his father during the rebellion. When Parigan was caught, he would have been imprisoned for terrorism, if not for his father's intervention. Not wanting that stain on the family name, Lord Mayes instead cut Parigan off from any inheritance or entitlement from his family name and left him to fend for himself and Brinnea's family. They found a house, and were all forced to enter the workforce. The new strain on Maria's heart caused it to give out, and she died shortly after. Brinnea's sister left Gilneas to fight for the fallen Lordaeron, leaving Brinnea alone with a bitter and broken husband in a disheveled home. The two would have separated or Brinnea would have hurt herself if not for a miracle -- she was pregnant. The spouses drifted back together and found their love again in the face of this new, difficult, but exciting challenge. As Parigan's work ethic and mood improved, his father even allowed him to visit the family manor periodically. Things were looking up, until the Scourge attacked the Wall in earnest. Gilneas had always been on the brink of losing the Wall to the undead, but they always managed to hold it despite deadly odds. Sometimes undead would slip past the defenses by way of flight, and reap bloody harvests in the lands beyond the Wall. One such event occurred the night Brinnea gave birth to her daughter Charlotte. Separated from other fleeing citizens, forced to give birth in the woods, and helpless to stop the gargoyles from tearing Parigan apart in front of her, Brinnea's life came to a horrible end as a gargoyle carried her and her newborn baby high into the sky and dropped them both. Brinnea's last words were a desperate prayer to save her child. It was one of the only prayers she prayed the Light ever saw fit to answer. Charlotte miraculously survived. Her parents, however, both died that night. Brinnea's corpse was flown off to the Scourge's necropolis, while Parigan's was left to be buried by his family, only to be raised years later by the Forsaken. Brinnea's corpse was bound for the ghoul pile, but by some mistake, she was instead placed with those meant to be raised as death knights. Thus, her new life of undead supremacy began. She was easily the weakest of the new recruits that were not immediately used for ghoul fodder, and so her instructor Grol took particular interest in her. In time, she became the best of Grol's students, and was sent to the Shadow Vault in Northrend to await the time of the Scourge. The Ebon Blade took her prisoner and tortured her for information. They were about ready to give up on her and put her out of her misery when Arthas' very heart was destroyed by Tirion Fordring. The sudden shift in the Lich King's power freed her mind suddenly, resulting in a series of violent panic attacks then eventually subsided. When the Ebon Blade deemed her fit to fight for them, she helped the end of the siege of Icecrown Citadel and received icy powers from the souls of Sindragosa's brood. After the Cataclysm, Brinnea found herself in a wide world with nowhere she belonged to except the Ebon Blade. She decided to put her new powers to use and search for a suitable organization to invest herself in. Her curse made her a killer, but at least she could kill for a good purpose. Her final decision was to join the Twilight Empire, and from then on, her new life as a soldier for peace began. Stories of Brinnea on the TNG: Taking Matters Into Her Own Hands - Following the kidnapping of Skylah Mackinzie, Brinnea goes on a rampage to force answers into the light. 'Til Death Part Us - After a miraculous escape from her execution in Thunder Bluff, Brinnea and Parigan are reunited. Both have cheated death before; can they do it again? War's End - Brinnea and Parigan have found their missing daughter and have formed some semblance of a life for their family, but putting down their swords is easier said than done. Dying In the Moonlight - To find their kidnapped daughter, Brinnea and Parigan comb the Broken Isles. The search leads to one final confrontation with their family's tormentor, Cynthia. A Small Flame - After volunteering for an expedition into the Dread Wastes, Brinnea finds that even in hiding, trouble will still find her. Lie-Die-Sanctify - A secret war between Ebon Blade and Silver Hand crashes down on Brinnea's life. This time, nothing will stop her from protecting her family. The Prison of the Mind - Brinnea lands in prison once more, but rather than guilt, she feels anger at her imprisonment. No cell will hold her as long as she still stands. Rest - A moment of quiet gives Brin the chance to say goodbye to someone long ago passed. A Wolf, a Horse, and a Rider - Exiled by law and spurned by those she called friend, Brinnea wanders northward with no clear goal; a world of troubles close at her heels. The End of the Road - Hunted and haunted, Brinnea's journey grows darker and more desperate. “The Dark is what you are. Do not shun it, and you shall never fear again.” - Accalia "A woman proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on her brow, and misery in her heart, a scorner of her kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection."
  6. <p>Yeah, that's the biggest one I've got. I took the base from Fire Emblem Awakening, but I drew the glasses myself <img src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/tongue.png" alt=":P" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/tongue@2x.png 2x" width="20" height="20" /></p>

  7. Brinnea Velmon is Lawful Good. For the most part, she is respectful of authority and is always willing to go out of her way to help people in need, especially friends and family. As a death knight, she has less of a tendency to look out for her own well-being, so she can be seen as entirely too selfless, hence where the stereotypical 'Lawful Stupid' alignment comes in. However, she also has a history with brutal violence and will not flinch at delivering harsh punishments to those she deems to deserve it. That said, she tries her best not to get involved with leadership positions or politics because she believes her subordinates in the Alliance would not listen to her due to being an undead. She also is afraid of making decisions that might fail to solve problems, or even cause new ones. She does not blindly accept the decisions made by her superiors, but she does not question them directly because of her belief her word means less than everyone else's. All in all, Brinnea has the morals of a paladin, but the social ability of a marginalized minority, having been conditioned through her experiences that she and the living cannot truly co-exist peacefully. Alignment: Lawful Good ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (31) Neutral Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (27) Chaotic Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (22) Lawful Neutral -- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (25) True Neutral ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (21) Chaotic Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (16) Lawful Evil ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXX (13) Neutral Evil ---- XXXXXXXXX (9) Chaotic Evil ---- XXXX (4) Law & Chaos: Law ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXX (13) Neutral - XXXXXXXXX (9) Chaos --- XXXX (4) Good & Evil: Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (18) Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXX (12) Evil ---- (0) (I like this test for what it is, and I think the results were accurate as far as my character goes.)
  8. Twilight Empire represent! I appreciate the good sportsmanship on Hordeside as well.
  9. I probably should have expressed my intent to take part earlier, but oh well. I'd like to help the Alliance on my main, Brinnea. (as long as I can make whatever day is decided, I am pretty busy). Looking forward to some murder! You know, for peace and stuff.
  10. Orgog wasn’t surprised the night elf had ceased his cowardly shouting after arriving in Orgrimmar. He had met many night elves before, albeit always in combat scenarios. They had a habit of keeping their cool under pressure, especially when it came to their pride in the face of an enemy. Orgog dragged the man by rope into the depths of the Ragefire Chasm. A few trolls and tauren glared at him on his way through the city streets, but he paid them no heed. A stone guard of the Horde had the authority to take prisoners of war. It would take quite the uproar to get a superior officer on his case, and he didn’t plan to stick around on the ground level long enough to cause one. Orgog had once served the Kor’kron. He had assisted in building the massive underground fortress Garrosh Hellscream had used as a bunker in his final days as Warchief. There were plenty of patrols throughout the citadel, those searching for stranglers from the recent siege and such, but Orgog knew where he had to go to avoid unwanted attention. The storage chamber was still filled wall to wall with remnants of the campaign in Pandaria. The Horde had made an effort to sort through the artifacts to either return them for political reasons or reuse them for their own purposes, but there were plenty of nooks and crannies for the right person to exploit. In one such place, Orgog secured his prisoner, and removed the burlap sack he had thrown over his head for security reasons. The night elf’s face was painted with concern now that only Orgog could see him. The masks these elves could put on impressed Orgog, but their strength was what he admired most. Night elves were inhumanly strong, rivaling even orcs in the most extreme cases. That combined with their hunter’s intuition and dexterity made for ferocious killers. The man who kneeled before Orgog, however, was a mere worker at best. The night elf spoke in the Common tongue of the humans, "I do not know what it is you want, orc. I will do whatever you want, please, don’t hurt me. I have a family!” Orgog understood. He had been taught the language by a shaman translator while in captivity. A useful skill, to know the voice of your enemy. Orgog put a finger to his mouth, silencing the elf. He removed his dragonscale helm at a leisurely pace. Slow enough to build suspense. The elf would do anything to save his own skin, no doubt, but Orgog had to be sure. Once his helm was removed, he place it on the ground and let the elf get a good look at his face. Wrinkled and gruff, Orgog’s face was smeared with grease, sweat, and a long beard running along his jawline. His eyes were pure red, his hair a deep crimson and cut in a short Mohawk. Several scars, many still red and fresh, dressed his face like form-fitting clothes. They complimented his look nicely and told stories of his accomplishments. The elf stared, breathing hard, waiting for the orc to speak. Orgog finally obliged, “What I want from you is total cooperation. You will do something for me, and in return you will live your pathetic life however long you elves live these days. I am searching for a man. An orc, named Randar Strongaxe.” Orgog paused to let the name sink in. “Randar was imprisoned years ago by the Alliance. He must be somewhere in one of your capital cities. Stormwind stockades, Darnassus dungeons, Ironforge prisons. You will search them all. If and when you find him, you will find me, and then you will forget we ever met.” The night elf stared at him, too stunned for words. When he finally spoke, he asked, “Why me? I don’t know anything about prisons, or orcs, or combat. I’m only a peaceful leatherworker!” Orgog grunted, as he often did when he needed to be blunt. “I picked you out of chance. You were alone, and easy to capture. And you are no military type like the many of your kind I slew on the battlefield only yesterday.” The elf sat in silence for a few moments, unclear on how to respond. Then he spoke again, “And if I agree…you will return me to Darnassus? What…what’s to stop me from going to the sentinels for protection?” Orgog was curious as to why the elf would ask, but he quickly reasoned it out. If he didn’t ask, and he did go to the elves, Orgog might have an unpleasant surprise waiting for him. Even if he did raise Orgog’s suspicion, it would be better to know how one was being tracked than to live in the shadow of death unknowingly. Orgog spoke, “I have an ally who will take care of that for me. A shadow priest.” Orgog left it at that. Alleda, the priest he spoke of, was a specialist that worked for a friend of his in Silvermoon. She was a prodigy in the ways of the shadows, especially in mind control magic. She would keep an eye on this man so long as she was within a reasonable distance. Hiding her somewhere on Teldrassil would do. The elf looked uncertain, but he spoke more quickly this time. “I will do as you ask, so long as myself and my family as unharmed.” Orgog squinted at the man. “Swear to me by the souls of your ancestors, and by the moon goddess of your people.” “I swear…by the spirits of my ancestors, in the light of Elune. I shall search for Randar Strongaxe.”
  11. Drakes, wyverns and various other flying mounts ascended into the sky in swift retreat from the Temple of Elune in Darnassus. Orgog directed his own armored wyvern towards a tree off on the edge of the isle of Teldrassil, overlooking the Veiled Sea. A blind spot, where night elven riders could not spot him without leaving the perimeter of the city. Over his hearthstone, Orgog heard his instructions clearly. He was to teleport away from danger as soon as possible. An order given for his and the other Grims’ safety, no doubt. But Orgog had other plans. When would he have an opportunity like this again? The Alliance’s attention was fixed on the Temple and the fleeing sky riders. Resistance would be inconsequential. Orgog tucked his hearthstone in his saddlebag and took off. He pointed his wyvern towards the wooded region opposite the Temple across the body of water at the center of the city. The wyvern took shelter in the trees. The sentinels saw even better than he in the night, so he mustn’t count on them not looking for him. One warning to the city guard, and he could be cornered. All his strength would mean nothing if he applied it at the wrong moment. Orgog saw that moment when an elf stepped from his treestump of a home and began a lonely walk down the road. No other elves were close enough to witness his attack. The elf man stopped and frowned at the sound of alarm in the direction of the Temple. Orgog’s wyvern glided down towards the ground, slowly, quietly. A few feet above the elf, Orgog leapt off the beast and fell onto the elf, knocking the wind out of him. He hit the ground with an oomph, and Orgog immediately began lassoing him with ropes tied to his wyvern. Once the ropes were secure around the elf’s waist and chest, Orgog reached out for his still descending wyvern and lifted himself off the ground. He took off without opposition. The night elf didn’t manage a yell until they were well above the treeline. By then it was much too late. Orgog had claimed his prize. A short flight back to the mainland would give him time to resecure the ropes. Then they would make for home. To Orgrimmar.
  12. ((Originally written by Ruuki)) Ruuki had been checking the notices pinned to the guild hall message board when the bags arrived. She was used to gifts of tribute being made to the Grim, and she'd seen plenty in her short time as an officer. Once she found out who it was from, she directed the delivery grunts to bring the bags to her office. "Seems I've got a knack for obtaining Supplicants who take the trials of the Inquisition very seriously." She spoke to no one in particular as she closed the door to her office, cutting the ties on one bag so she could examine its contents. Ears, more ears than she could count. Still, she laid them out, even matching up which ears she could. Five hundred night elf ear pairs. She grinned with pride at his achievement, and stuffed the ears back into the bags haphazardly, not bothering to sort them again. Half she'd send to Syreena to enjoy as a snack, the others she'd find a way to make a sort of trophy. She sat at her desk, finding a scrap of parchment to pen a reply for Orgog. "Orgog, I only gave you this task a few nights ago, and you've already completed it. It's little wonder then that Ashran has been much quieter today. I will present this bag before the Grim tonight to announce the completion of your first trial. I am very certain that the Shadowblade will enjoy this tribute to her. This is only the beginning of your life in service to the Mandate. You are a prime example of the Mandate in the flesh. -Inquisitor Ruuki"
  13. Orgog tossed the last corpse onto the pile that had amassed during the long day of fighting. Nearby peons were already sifting through the heap of mangled limbs and bodies. He had told them at the day’s start what he sought from them. The feckless runts tentatively cut ears and stripped bones from the dead. Satchels were filled with either the pointed elf ears or the clean bones found amongst the fallen. The ears would go to the Grim. A pair for each dead elf. One to prove the kill, and one for the crazed rouge to have. The bones, however, would be given to the great gladiator of the Frostwolves as a tribute. The gladiators would spread the word throughout the Horde that Orgog Strongaxe was the scourge of the Kaldorei. Five hundred night elves slain in one day. The Alliance would learn soon that the name Strongaxe means death for all. One of the peons gagged when a particularly rotten corpse fell apart in his hands. Orgog watched the pathetic scene for a few seconds. When it was clear the worker would not continue his task, Orgog made for him at a swift pace. The gagging neophyte looked up just as Orgog’s boot collided with his face, shattering his nose. The peon yelped and clutched his broken nose, writhing on the already blood-soaked ground. “On your knees, maggot. You have bodies to sift through,” Orgog said in a flat, disinterested tone. The sniveling whelp slowly picked himself off the ground and returned to work. The dishonorable runt worked diligently under Orgog’s red glare. The rest doubled the pace of their cutting and bagging. When the task was complete, Orgog had the bags put into two carts and dragged off, one to the Orgrimmar portal, and one to his wyvern, to fly back to Frostwall. When he was not a few minutes out at sea, a crossbow bolt buzzed past his wyvern, narrowly missing the beast. Orgog turned toward the origin of the bolt, and saw an Iron Horde vessel floating off the coast of the isle of Ashran. He grunted in mild exasperation and pushed his armored mount into a swift descent. Once he was within range of an easy shot, he dove off the wyvern and crashed onto an orc with a sickening crunch. The soldier’s neck snapped, and Orgog charged off to fight the rest. An arbalester. The crossbow never lifted from his hip before Orgog’s sword passed through his throat. A quick twist and a pull, then Orgog barreled down on his next target. And so it went for a few minutes of glorious slaughter. From topdeck to the lowest deck on the ship, the paragon of clan Strongaxe slathered the vessel with orc blood. An amusing distraction, but it was over as soon as it began. The Iron Horde was weaker than Orgog had ever imagined, and they were growing weaker. After rigging the ship’s engine to explode, Orgog turned to depart. He was stopped by the sound of a weak voice. “You…strange green orc…,” she said crawling from the corner, bloodied and broken, “You fight with honor…with purpose…yet you are not one of us…why did your kind side with others…over your own kin?” Orgog looked down on the dying orc with eyes lacking mercy. “You are not my kin,” he said, “You threatened my homeland, my entire world.” Orgog moved in front of the orc and crouched down. He grabbed her hair and tugged her head back so she would look him in the eyes. “No weakling may live to threaten me or my kind while I yet breathe. Take my words to the next life. I am Orgog Strongaxe, Stone Guard of the one true Horde, defender of Azeroth, slayer of dragons, and scourge of the Alliance. I will paint the world red with the blood of any fool enough to challenge me.” Then the snapped her neck.
  14. Full Name: Chinasu Strongaxe Nicknames: "Chi" Date of Birth: July 21 Age: 16 Race: Orc Gender: Female Hair: Purple, cut into a line of top-knots Skin: Light green, fair complexion Eyes: Ocean blue Height: 5' 9'' Weight: 145 lbs Place of residence: Orgrimmar, Valley of Strength Place of Birth: Hammerfall, Arathi Basin Known Relatives: Ogrian, her eldest brother. Orgog, her older brother. Salag, her father. Megami, her mother. Religion/Philosophy: Ancestor worship, shamanistic. Follows Thrall's philosophies. Occupation: Shaman in training. Group/Guild affiliation: Member of Sanctuary Guild Rank: Initiate Enemies: N/A Likes: The outdoors, animals, and working with her hands, (especially in brawls). Favorite Foods: Any kind of fish. Favorite Drinks: Moonberry Juice Favorite Colors: Red Weapons of Choice: Hands or axes Dislikes: Cramped spaces, pollution, and needless killing. Hobbies: Brawling, travelling, and trying new food. Physical Features: A young, stoic looking orcess. She wears her hair in a line of braids, and has only two earrings for jewelry. Her green skin is of fair complexion, marred only by dirt and mud from her time in the wilderness. Her eyes are brilliant ocean blue, and always gazing off at something far away. Her body is well-toned and developed into an athletic orc woman's build. Her hands are well-used and tough. They always seem ready to leap into action is need be. As strong as her body looks, it isn't half as powerful as her connection with the elements. Those who can sense spirits can tell she has spent much time communing with them. Her aura blazes like a wildfire, and the air crackles like ozone. Special Abilities: As a shaman, she has learned so far to channel each of the elements in a crude fashion, which bolsters her brawler fighting style. She is also able to mend wounds with the power of water. Her connection with the spirits and the elements is well-toned, even more so than her athletic body. With the elements on her side, she will make a great warrior someday. Positive Personality Traits: Always willing to help those in need, usually selfless, and has respect for nature and all that lives in it. She is accepting of all kinds and creeds, even those she finds less trustworthy. Negative Personality Traits: Impatient, easily annoyed, aggressive, and does act selfish in that she will ignore other’s needs if she can get in someone’s face that she doesn’t like. Can hold long grudges. Not a big fan of organization and structure, and can be disrespectful to superiors. A partial believer in might means right. Misc. Quirks: Doesn’t wash to get clean, so she us often dirty and smelly. Mocks people’s poses without thinking about it. Played by What Famous Person: Me. Duh. Theme Songs: “Firebender Training” from Legend of Korra History: Born in an internment camp and raised in a Horde ruled by Warchief Thrall. Chinasu learned shamanistic arts from her mother and the values of being a warrior from her father. Her brothers were distant a lot of the time, and she spent much of her childhood exploring the wilderness of Durotar and the Barrens. When she became older, her father and brothers were always out at war and her mother was busy tending the wounded, so she chose to attend speeches by philosophers among the tauren. The ideology of Thrall became her lifestyle. She respected life, and fought only to protect home and to help people in need. She believed in balance, rather than brutish war making. This is what eventually led her into trouble with the Kor’kron, the faction her brother Orgog was a soldier in. He left Garrosh’s service, but not because Garrosh had betrayed the Horde. He left because he though relying on the sha was a sign of weakness. Chinasu never understood her brother’s desire to slaughter humans. She did not know of the terrible things that happened in the camps when she was a baby. Eventually, her desire to help peace bloom led her to Sanctuary.