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Everything posted by RiktheRed21

  1. As long as I can come up with a reason Brin turns up there, I would be happy to attend!
  2. ((They may not like being reminded of the Tauren village, but I sure do!))
  3. Those who heed such news may learn that the Horde's attempt to hunt down the murderous death knight responsible for the desolation of the village in Mulgore has seen no progress in the last few days. The human was tracked through the mountains of Feralas, but her trail was lost abruptly in the forests below. Residual traces of fel magic were found at a gnoll campsite where she was suspected to have stopped for some time. It is very unlikely the death knight teleported using this method of her own will, therefore it is the conclusion of the hunters that their query was assisted by some unknown warlock in her escape. Her current whereabouts are unknown...
  4. ((Re-formatting logs is hard)) Brinnea is curled in a ball beside a low fire. She is battered and scarred, her shirt and pants torn in several places and stained with blood and gore. She seems distant and unresponsive as the stranger approaches... Order Mage would gaze at the woman laying before him. "Miss." He would reach down and attempt to wake the woman with a mind blast readying in his other hand. As the man draws closer, he sees that she is not, in fact sleeping. Her ice-blue eyes are fixed on the embers burning by her feet. She does not react to his prodding either. Order Mage sighs. "Miss. You are not safe here. I have been tasked with taking you someone secure. My master would speak with you." He would kneel and shake the woman gently. Brinnea looks at the man shaking her without recognition. Her face is devoid of expression, and her forehead is bloody and scarred. Thick, bony lines trace down her face. She seems weak and frail, but the air around her is frigid, and growing colder. Brinnea: No one is safe. Order Mage lets out a louder sigh. "Seems I must do this myself." He would reach into his robe and take out a small stone carved with demonic markings. He would bring it close to his mouth and speak. "Brothers. She seems to be unresponsive . . . or at least slightly. Prepare a portal and wait for my signal." Brinnea continues to stare into the fire. "You would steal me from the jaws of fate?" Order Mage chuckles loudly. "Not I. But my master. He has quite a few questions regarding your encounter with the good Reverend." A slight smirk comes to his face. "I do believe I have said enough. If you will not come willingly, then I have no choice." Brinnea shrugs her way to her feet. She hunches over as if a great weight were set upon her shoulders. Brinnea stares into the mage's eyes. Order Mage stares at the woman inquisitively. Brinnea speaks, more to herself than to the man before her, "It seems I have been offered a new path to walk. This world yet has use for me, then?" Order Mage nods his head. "So it seems. Though I cannot tell you what else my master intends. He simply sent me because of his sight. He saw this place . . . and you. Now I do belive this area will not be safe for much longer." Even as he says this, a wolf's howl echoes across the mountains above. The hunters are drawing nearer... Brinnea: You would place yourself in danger by harboring me. Order Mage does not even seem phased by the howl in the distance as he offers out his hand to the woman. "Believe me. Where we are going, no one would dare tread. And even if they did, they would have to find it first." He would raise the stone in his other hand. Brinnea looks at the stone tiredly. "Very well. Take me from this place, at your own peril." Order Mage would take a step closer and grab onto the womans hand. "Hold on tight." He would grip the stone tightly and bring it back in front of his mouth. "Brothers. Tell the Seer I have his prize. We are ready for transport." Brinnea lets herself be whisked away without a fuss. Without a moments delay. A fel green light begins to whirl around the duo followed by a fiery flash. A charred mark on the ground is all that remains of where they once stood. Woldemar sits quietly in the darkness of the room. With what little light is available, it is clear a black piece of cloth hangs over where his eyes should be. As the woman enters the room, a smirk slides across his face. "Welcome my dear." Brinnea shakes off the slight daze of teleporting across the planet before replying, "You must be the one he called 'master,' then. Why did you have me rescued and brought here? It can only mean danger for you and yours." Woldemar laughs quietly to himself. "Danger. Surprised that you care about a complete stranger. None the less, the knowledge you possess is of far greater value than one might realize. I hear you landed a mortal blow on the good Reverend Smithe? If so, Woldemar: “I must congratulate you." Brinnea glanced around the dark, decrepit room, casting her flashlight-esque eyes on her surroundings. "My suffering does not need to be borne by others anymore. But if you insist, I shall accept your kindness and repay you with the information you seek." Brinnea: I do remember this Reverend you speak of. He was a traitor and a scoundrel. Much like me, it seems. When the time of the Eclipse was nigh, I put him to the sword so that he would benefit from others' suffering no more. Woldemar laughs quietly once more. "Then I am sure it would surprise you to learn that he is indeed dead. He will most certainly no longer harm anyone. Alas, that is only part of what I want to know. I have had quite a few visions about you lately. Something about you intrigues me greatly." Brinnea: Speak your peace, I have nowhere to be. Woldemar: It has come to my attention that you have lost something dear to you as of late. Am I correct? Brinnea looks unamused. "You could have come to me any of the last ten years to say that, and my answer would be the same. Yes, the world has seen fit to claim what I hold most dear." Woldemar: And if I told you it was a simple matter in getting what you hold dear back? You see. While the Reverend was slightly misguided. He knew our mission well. Achieve power at all costs. This power could be used for whatever the wielder wished. Brinnea is quiet for a long time. Finally, she replies, "What I lack for least is power, and yet it is not enough to save those I care for." Woldemar laughs. "You may think that you have power. But alone . . . you are nothing. To achieve true power, you cannot go it alone." Brinnea grimaces. "This I have learned well firsthand. But I do not rely on any other's kindness for strength. I do not expect to receive their love, not as I am." Woldemar: You think it is love that I speak of? This world is a harsh place as I am sure you have discovered. If you wish to be strong enough to protect those that you love. Then you cannot love at all. You must be the monster lurking in the shadows. Woldemar: This is what my acolytes and I strive for. Brinnea is quiet again. When she speaks, it is in a hushed tone, "What you say echoes the thoughts in my mind. Doubt shrouded me for the longest time because I couldn't see the truth hidden in the veil of darkness..." Brinnea: I am not like them, nor shall I ever be again. But the world of light belongs to the living, so the shadows must be my home. Woldemar lets a smirk slide across his face. "Then you have a very narrow minded view. The shadows may be your only sanctum for now, but should you take the right path, you will be welcome in the light when the Black Dawn rises." Brinnea: Perhaps I am narrow of mind. Nothing would please me more than to take a place of my own in this world. Woldemar: All you have to do is claim it. Brinnea does not respond. The room grows quiet. Woldemar snaps his fingers. His demonic bodyguard would hand him a small notebook. Woldemar would nod sending the demon back to his post. Woldemar would hold the book in his hands and turn his head back towards the woman. Woldemar: Feeling quiet are we? Brinnea: You ask me to leave behind what I have to claim what I want. But I have nothing to lose. Woldemar: Then this would seem like an easy choice to make . . . Brinnea: Perhaps it is time I took back what could have been mine. So what is it you want of me? Woldemar: As of late. My followers and I have lost many valuable resources and comrades. We feel it is time we rebuilt. And you would be an excellent addition. Brinnea: And how would I be able to assist in your rebuilding efforts? Woldemar: Isn't it obvious. With your blade of course. We need someone to ensure our security once more. Our forces have been . . . lacking as of late. Brinnea: What do you expect to be needing security against? Woldemar: Smithe was careless. He left our order vulnerable and with many enemies. Your previous employers being one of them. Brinnea gazes at a boarded-up window. "They likely will want me dead anyway. If it is kill or be killed, I will not hesitate." Woldemar: That is all I require. Brinnea: Then my sword is yours, if I can find one. I seem to have lost mine. Woldemar: The Order will provide all that you need. While we lack what we once had, we still can be quite resourceful. Brinnea: I will take only what I need. Brinnea: You will find it isn't much. Woldemar: Then I believe that is all we have to discuss. Soon, you will have much work to do. Brinnea turns to the door. "I shall leave you to your solitude, then. I am sure you will find me when I am needed." Woldemar: You are quite right. Woldemar: Enjoy your stay. I have had a room prepared for you below. Brinnea: Four walls and a roof. More than I deserve. But I shall accept. Brinnea turns around once more. "You haven't given me a name." Woldemar smirks. "My name no longer matters. I am simply known as The Seer now." Brinnea: So be it, Seer. Fare well.
  5. Throwing in my two cents, I understand the need for labeling and fair warning on posts and in-game rp when they contain/may contain mature themes and the like. In the past, I've considered putting ratings on my posts for such a reason, but I shied away from it because I'm not very good at discerning the difference between the ratings and I also don't focus my writing to be directed at any particular audience. I run with what I feel should be in my story, and whether the themes of it are intense or silly depends on how I'm feeling. So, I suppose what I'm trying to say is the rating feels like a limiter on my story as opposed to a label. This may just be my own lack of finesse in the writing department, but I'll definitely do what I can to warn anyone who may read it with a little label in the title from now on, especially on the TNG and sanctum. But I'll use it more as a warning than a rating so as not to limit an audience to an age range or something like that.
  6. ((Hmm, I think Tazzuk is trying to out-gore me... ))
  7. “You don’t have to lie to me. Not anymore.” Brinnea’s guild stone crumbled in her hand. It was done. Her only remaining link to the Empire was now nothing but dust. She flexed her fingers and told herself this was the way it had to be. She almost believed it. Doubt thundered in the horizon of her mind. She tried to push those thoughts away, but she may as well try and topple a mountain. She looked over the crowd of tauren. They were quiet, but she felt the fear buried in the silence. Their chieftain had tried to save them from her, but now he was on the ground, food for the worms. Brinnea looked out into the distant fields of Mulgore. The red cloth and brown leather banners were adding up. Sometime soon, they would give up on taking her down without letting the civilians get hurt and just charge in. She couldn’t take them all on if they did. Perhaps the General had been right. Would this folly only do more harm than good? Would the Grim never show themselves and just carry on claiming innocent victims? What would her actions do to change anything? The Grim would never give up Skylah, not to her. Brinnea knew she couldn’t do it all alone. Her doubts spread like a plague to the undead she used as minions. She lost her grip on them, but her magic kept them moving. They all began to drop their weapons and shambled around mindlessly, drifting dangerously close to the villagers. Brinnea watched them draw closer to the circle, heard the children cry as those who once protected them came closer, moaning and drooling blood. Brinnea stood abruptly, and yanked her sword out of its sheath. She walked angrily towards the circle, grabbing each undead tauren on her way and slicing their heads off. The rest of her minions came as well. She put them all down, one by one. When it was over, the village was silent once more. Brinnea didn’t bother looking back at her prisoners. “Go,” she said, quietly at first, “Go on.” She whirled around and shouted, “GO! LEAVE!” The tauren all scrambled to their hooves and began to march out of the village toward the nearest Horde camp. She stood in the middle of the village, watching as the people fled to safety. All around her, the dead lie still, the wind picking at their bloody fur lazily as clouds rolled by overhead. She turned to another Horde camp, away from the villagers’ destination. She began walking toward it. A hand reached up to the straps holding her pauldron in place. A twist of the fingers, and it slid off and fell to the ground. Then the other one fell. She removed her swordbelt, and dropped it on the ground. She did the same with her gauntlets, and her breastplate, greaves, and leggings. With only cloth protecting her flesh and no weapons on her person, she carried on. Halfway there, the red soldiers came to meet her. She put her hands behind her head and knelt on the ground. Rough hands checked her for weapons. Chains fitted her hands behind her back. They dragged her to her feet and shoved her down the road wordlessly. She went on without a fuss. All her fight was gone now. They dragged her into their camp. Strange faces regarded her with hatred. Some of them cursed at her in the native tongues. Some even did it in Common. No one was happy to see her. She didn’t blame them. A rock was thrown at her, then another, and more after that. The guards escorting her backed off a bit to let the shots hit their marks, but stayed close enough to grab her if she tried anything. Dozens of stones scraped at her skin. Blood poured from open wounds and bruises were already forming elsewhere. She ignored it all. At last, they arrived at the tent of the person in charge. A tauren stepped out from it, a Sunwalker clad in Orgrimmar plate armor. On his chest he wore a leather tabard of Thunder Bluff. He stared at her with a look that told not of hatred, but disappointment. When she looked at his worried expression, she flashed back to a time when her father would look at her like that. His face seemed to appear on top of the tauren’s, like a transparent mask. She felt something spark in her chest. He spoke to her in Common, “I expected better from one of the Twilight Empire.” Brinnea stared at her, confused. “How did you know?” The spark grew stronger, pulsing across her chest. The paladin replied, “We met once before, Brinnea Velmon. My memory has yet to fail me…” His voice trailed out. Brinnea’s ears began to ring and the pulsing from her chest spread to the rest of her body. The air grew cold all around her. This tauren knew who she was. He knew who she was with. Everything was falling apart. Her mind grew dark as the rage took hold. With all her strength, she wrenched her hands apart, shattering the frigidly cold shackles and freeing herself from the grips of the soldiers behind her. She charged the Sunwalker, and tackled him back into his tent. He struggled to grab his weapon, a hammer on his belt. She grabbed it instead, and tore it off his belt. As her vision began to blur, she turned to face the guards outside. She smashed one in the helm and blood flew into her eyes. Before blacking out, all she could see was red. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Rain pelted the thirsty grass of Mulgore. Brinnea’s vision came back to her as the sun began to set. She had a sword in her hand, she didn’t know where it came from, but it was covered in blood. She was kneeling on top of a dead orc. She stood shakily. She had sustained many wounds, but none that would cause her any lingering damage. All except for a scar on her forehead. It leaked blood into her eyes constantly. She wiped it off with a torn sleeve as she looked around at the Horde camp. The dead were everywhere. Tents were collapsed, and blood watered the ground as much as the rain did. Limbs and organs were strewn across the dirt and grass. Not a single body moved that she could see. Brinnea stood uneasily on a wounded leg. She dropped the sword in her hand and turned away from the bloody mess. The death knight started walking, and didn’t look back.
  8. Night fell in Mulgore as Brinnea awaited more challenge from the gathering Horde outside the village perimeter. The village was teeming with their undead allies now. At least two dozen had attacked today, alone or in a small group. None had managed to put more than a scratch in her armor. Those that chose to flee were allowed to, but those who chose to fight to the death were given what they asked for. To pass the time, she had started playing her harp, more for the villagers than herself. Most of them could not sleep due to their nerves, so she started keeping the undead more towards the outskirts of the village and watched over them herself. Soon after she started playing, some of the tauren started humming along, some even sang in their native tongue. She tried to match their native tune with her own instrument. That seemed to ease the minds of some of them. She broke off her playing when one of her guards silently warned her of an incoming foe. She set her harp aside and stood, commanding her guards to investigate the figure as it drew near. Soon after, the sound of gunshots and fighting came from beyond the circle of tents. Brinnea felt her grasp on the guards waning as the new foe struck some of them down. Not wanting to lose too much of her small army, she pulled those that remained back and moved to confront the enemy herself while the undead returned to watching the circle of tauren. The two strongest undead, both orcs, were brought along with her. When she rounded the tents, she got a good look at the enemy she faced. A blood elf, wielding a staff and shrouded in the mists of Pandaria. Brinnea gritted her teeth. This would not the first monk she had faced in combat. Much of her combat skill outside of the Knights of the Ebon Blade had been taught by the monks of the Shado-Pan. She knew what tricks she might face here, and prepared herself for such. But the monk chose to battle with words rather than weapons. He began by condemning her actions. He wasn’t the first. After a few minutes, he gave her his name, Kex’ti of Sanctuary. He was displeased when she did not offer him her own name. When she mentioned the Grim’s kidnapping of Skylah, he seemed shocked, Brin did not know if the shock was because the Grim had committed such a heinous crime, or because of how she was acting in response to their actions. He seemed sympathetic and did not want to fight; he even went so far as to offer the assistance of his own guild in this matter. Brinnea did not accept. If he was a good enough person to overlook the deaths of his allies, he did not deserve to be dragged into what Brinnea had started. Kex’ti slipped into a battle stance. Brinnea stepped forward, leaving her undead behind her. The monk and death knight faced one another under the light of the stars. For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. Brinnea stood as still and resolute as mountain in the wind, while Kex’ti took his crane stance and let the mists enshroud him, protecting him from harm and energizing his muscles. At long last, Brin struck first. A fist of frost shattered against a solid statue emerging from the mists. Brinnea darted to the side and yanked the elf toward her with a death grip. His staff flew faster than a bullet, but Brinnea parried expertly with her off hand weapon and struck low to hamstring him. He leapt away from her strike and countered with a series of kicks intended to trip. The death knight took the blows, hardening her stance to absorb the impact as she spun and struck heavily. Kex’ti used his staff to shrug off her attack. And so began their deadly dance. Strikes landed faster than eyes could see, Brinnea’s runeblades an icy blue blur, and Kex’ti’s staff and limbs a shimmer of green mist. Every so often, an attack would hit its target, and blood flew. Brinnea’s unarmored head soon became battered and bloody. Kex’ti seemed to be trying to cripple her more than land a killing strike right away. He was patient, but Brinnea knew how to wait out an opponent’s stamina. Her blades struck his leather, tearing through like a fireball through butter. The monk healed his wounds as quickly as he received them, and whenever he started to slip, he would vanish in mist and reappear far away, where he began to drink tea and heal his wounds. Brinnea’s pursuit was quick, but the monk recovered all the same. She would slow his attempts to escape with chains of ice and death grips, but the elf would not buckle. His blows began to have a toll on Brinnea’s body. She felt sluggish as her head continued to take a pounding. She stopped trying to capitalize on Kex’ti’s mistakes and instead focused on blows that would strip blood from his body. Each strike cleared her mind, and made her body more responsive. When he ran, she siphoned his soul, or trapped his mists in her runes to use for self-healing herself. After the first ten minutes, they seemed evenly matched. Neither gave any ground they could not reclaim soon after. Neither found any opportunities to land a killing blow. Then Kex’ti summoned an image of Xuen, the celestial spirit of strength. Brinnea’s attention was split between both the monk and his spirit. She backed up, trying to keep both of them in sight. She parried claws, fists, and staffs with expert timing. Still, she was losing ground, and needed to push back soon. Her undead army came to her aid. They swarmed the monk while Brinnea slashed the spirit apart, using the mists to re-empower herself. Kex’ti spun like a whirlwind, kicking each of his attackers with enough force to remove their heads. One flew straight at Brin, so she slashed it out of the air. The monk lunged at her, and she parried his staff. Their fight continued. Frost and mist swirled as a storm of frightening power. Flesh was rent with rime and weapons kissed like lovers. Brinnea kept a stern face and a calm composure. Kex’ti was no less stern, but more graceful where Brinnea was straightforward and fierce. Their duel went on for nearly an hour before Kex’ti leapt into the air, kicked at the death knight, who blocked his strike, then flipped back out of the village limits. He backed up slowly, his staff lowered. He seemed winded, but not exhausted. Brinnea breathed not at all, and felt no physical strain whatsoever. The monk slipped his staff over his shoulder and turned to leave, acknowledging that they were evenly matched. Brinnea let him go. She was impressed by his skill, and was glad she did not have to kill him. He was not a bad person, the world would mourn him should he be claimed by death. Brinnea turned back to the village, leaving her now fewer minions to watch the perimeter. She sat where she had earlier, and considered the last hour of the night. Perhaps this Kex’ti would take her message to the Grim and they would come. But perhaps not. The fate of her mission would be decided by a toss of dice now. Only with luck would her task be complete now. She passed these thoughts from her mind and reached for her harp. She did not expect to find only dirt and grass when she did so. She looked down at the empty spot curiously. Then she heard something move in the tent behind her. Before she could grab her blade, the leather behind her erupted as a frenzied tauren lunged at her with a garrote made from her harp strings. He managed to get it around her neck, overpowering her with his sheer size. She drew her head back hard, slamming it into the villager’s abdomen, cracking ribs and possibly causing internal bleeding. She freed herself from the wire and drew her runeblade. The tauren re-engaged quickly, locking her in a bear hug so she could not swing her blade. He said something softly but angrily in Taurahe as he squeezed, straining his muscles in an attempt to crush her back. Brinnea, with all her undead strength, could not free herself. So she opened her mouth and bit the tauren in the throat. She tore fur, flesh, blood, and muscle from his neck, and his grip loosened as he began to choke on his own blood. Brinnea turned to face the other villagers as the tauren gurgled and bled to death on the ground. Her face was bloody and staring at them wildly. The world seemed to grow silent and still. Brinnea looked at their terrified faces and saw her friends in their eyes. What would they think of her now? The regrets piled on her mind, despite her attempts to quell them. She returned to her seat, not bothering to reanimate the dead tauren.
  9. It was the second day of waiting. More of the Horde’s soldiers had been added to the dead since then. Brave fools seeking vengeance themselves before the armies showed up. Most fell without ever making it to Brinnea. Those that did were no match for her. The true test was still to come. A few hours after noon, she leaned against the post of a tent, waiting, when a deep, elderly voice called her to the village circle in the Common tongue. The elder of the tauren sat on the edge of his people’s allotted space and watched her carefully as she made her way over. She stood over him, saying nothing. He spoke, “It doesn’t have to be this way. You can still walk away; you can make that choice, and no one else will have to die.” Brinnea glanced off in the distance. The faces plagued her vision once more. She replied, “I don’t know you. I don’t know your people, or even the name of this village. I don’t want to do this, to spill anyone’s blood. Some people do, but I don’t. I’m not here because I chose to. I’m here because if I don’t do this…someone else will.” She walked back to her post, and carried on waiting.
  10. Ouch. Gonna need some aloe for that burn...
  11. A lone tauren rides to Thunder Bluff bearing a message in Common. Shortly after his message is delivered, it is spread to the rest of the Horde, as do rumors of an attack on a village in Mulgore. The message reads as such: “To the Grim, You have taken someone that belonged to my family. Now I have taken something that belongs to yours. If you kill Skylah, I will kill every innocent tauren in this village and send their rotting corpses to tear down the walls of their neighbors. For every hurt she suffers, I will make you suffer.”
  12. 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.
  13. ((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.))
  14. 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.
  15. My username is RiktheRed21. I've been looking for a good Minecraft server for years.
  16. 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."
  17. <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>

  18. 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.)
  19. Twilight Empire represent! I appreciate the good sportsmanship on Hordeside as well.
  20. 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.
  21. 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.”
  22. 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.
  23. ((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"