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1

Odds & Ends / The Book of the Dead: Red Blade

« on: October 22, 2019, 09:43:44 PM »

The Book of the Dead: Red Blade.

~
The names inscribed in this book are gone, but will never be forgotten. May their spirits soar in the Eternal Plains.
~

Mal'garr Firefist, Gosh'kar of the Red Blade Clan: Sacrificed himself to protect the Clan in the battle of Lordaeron, by inhaling blight fumes and erupting them with felfire. Succumbed to his wounds during the escape.

Kargush, New Blood of the Red Blade Clan: Died when the Clan was attacked in the Barrens by would be assassins. Killed in the line of duty, with -honor-, fighting for a Clan he wasn’t even part of yet.

Grogona Marshfang, Rrosh’tul of the Red Blade Clan: Died sometime before the Legion Invasion - Circumstances unknown.

Sadok Sharptongue, Thur’ruk of the Red Blade Clan: Died during the Legion Invasion. Crushed by a collapsing building. Spirit finally released during the cleansing of the Shaman-kings scepter in a joint effort ritual by Rhonya Steelheart and Azolg Firebrand.

Krogon Devilstep, Nag'ogar and Champion of the Red Blade Clan: Killed on the Alternative Draenor, having defeated Akesh the Poisoner's champion. Shot by a poisoned arrow. Killed by the Chieftain as a mercy, rather than a slow death by poison.

Makaroth Bloodaxe, Gul'thauk of the Red Blade Clan until Exile: Was killed by the Clan after drinking demon blood and commiting himself fully to the Burning Legion, then murdering a clansorc by the name of Keishara Wildeye, an alternative universe version (Similar to alternative Draenor).

Orok Felbane, Oathbound of the Red Blade Clan: Killed by unknown former Orc of the Clan. Circumstances hazy.

Mar'nosh Ragescar, New Blood of the Red Blade Clan: Died during the fight against Akesh the Poisoner in the Alternative Draenor. Remembered with honor.

Azguh, New Blood of the Red Blade Clan: Died during Pandaria visit. Killed by Urzoga the Unbroken, a mercy killing after succuming to Void induced madness.

[Spoiler: Things you may know about this character: •]

2

Red Blade Records / Azolg

« on: December 19, 2017, 05:25:07 PM »

(Art done by ElizaLiv!https://elizaliv.deviantart.com/)

Name: Azolg Firebrand
Alias: "Pyremaster."
Rank: Gosh'kar

Age: 35
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Clan: Bleeding Hollow (Not known to him, has been Mag'har since a small child.)
Class: Fire Shaman
Alignment: Neutral good.

Family:
Father: Drakkuth
Mother: Keira
Siblings: Not known

Known Friends: Rhonya Steelheart, Nosh'marak Ironclaw.
Known Enemies: None specific.

Appearance:
Azolg's appearance is certainly striking, to say the least. A set of red and muddy brown robes garner is form with a large rolled up what looks like a tied up rug on his shoulder. Scrolls are attatched to his robes and a medium sized tome hangs from his belt by a chain; black leather bound with the red blade insignia inscribed into it in red. His once brown skin is now tarred green, having decided to forsake his purity to fight the Legion; such an act shading his skin that shameful green all Orcs hold. Grey, deep-set eyes in a rounded shape belay years of constant critical thought, what with the endless crows feet and wrinkles that have set in at such an early age. The dark red hair hands behind his head, creeping around to the beard that shares the same color. Both are clearly well groomed in their appearance; tied off neatly and with purpose. The brilliant red hairs however, have started to fleck grey with age it seems.

His frame is somewhat intimidating. Despite being an Orc of the spirits he certainly isn't a weak-looking Orc. His muscles are toned, solid and quite strong; evident that he works out and keeps himself in shape. While no hulking warrior type - If push came to shove he could handle himself in combat. The garb he tends to wear is dark in color, either reds or blacks, and usually made from cloth. He keeps a blade near his belt seemingly for ritualistic purposes. And finally to finish off his visage - The Pyremasters Staff; Rahk'lokar.

Such a staff is grisly, but quite the artifact he holds. It is clearly aged, yet made of such a fine wood that it has only got stronger with age. The centre-piece of the staff is a Rylak skull - Clearly from back when Rylaks existed in Draenor. There are three male Orc skulls that hang from the horns of the Rylak; all with their own inscriptions etched onto them.

Personality:
The first thing one could say about Azolg, is he is certainly a reserved Orc. Fond of critical thinking and absolutely dedicated to the Spirit of Fire, he's an Orc that thrives on solving issues and giving advice. Certainly he is kind, and has a great deal of empathy to his fellow Orc. Partly due to his nature, but partly due to his training also; being a Pyremaster is a path that requires patience, reason and a gentle spirit. Such roles usually aren't chased by Orcs whom seek glory nor recognition in battle. As such with Azolg, he much prefers the solace and muse of his rituals, spending quiet time thinking about the deceased and enjoying the company of fire.

Such a path however doesn't offer him his own inadequacies. He is prone to periods of preferred seclusion; occasionally finding the noise of Clan life too much. Such is the way with Pyremasters however - That they prefer the company of the dead from time to time. But even when seeking refuge from the vibration of life, he will still find time for his Clan-orcs in need.

Spoiler: Things you may know about this character: • show

- Has been a Pyremaster for the majority of his life, learning from his father back in Garadar.
- Held the funeral for the following Orcs: Sadok Sharptongue, Grogona Marshfang, Kargush.
- Cleansed the Scepter of the Shaman-King, Mruthgor, with Rhonya to free Sadoks spirit; and others trapped inside.
- Through the aforementioned cleansing process, discovered the first Varog'gor; Drag'nash the Devourer, trapped inside the Scepter.

Spoiler: Things you may not know about this character: • show

- Has a large brand on his chest - Depicting a fire rune.
- He collects some of the ashes from Orcs he burns in the Clan. So far he has the following; Sadok, Grogona and Kargush.
- Used to be brown-skinned before he fought on the Broken Isles. The eventual exposure to Fel caused his skin to turn green. It's the reason his eyes are still Grey.

Other content and stories
Azolg's Book of the Dead: Red Blade.
A Collection of Experiences: Azolg's Travels

History:

Spoiler: Early History: Life Before The Clan • show

Birth: The Flames of Destiny.

Azolg's story really does begin at his birth, and what a birth it was. A horrific scene befell his mother as she went into labor and by the clumsy hand of the attending young Shaman, the hut went up in flames. As the flames spread hard and fast it became evident and obvious that they weren't going to make it out alive. Heat licked at his mothers skin, and in her desperation and fear she called out to the only thing she could think might help - The Spirit of Fire. Begging, screeching at the to of her voice she pleaded that while he own life couldn't be saved, if only her child could be spared such a death before it even had a chance to breathe the air.

And fire heard. And it responded.

When the flames died down, and the hut was a smoldering ruin the Mag'har managed to get closer inside, find out just what was left. Azolg's father Drakkuth cleared the half-burned wood to find the embers of his mates bones, and in it a screaming cub completely unharmed. A brand etched across his chest, seared into his flesh, depicting the sign of Fire.

And it was on this day that Fire claimed Azolg. It had heard his mothers cries, and decided that if it was going to keep Azolg alive, then he'd serve it for the rest of his life.

Youth: Life as a Mag'har.

Azolg's life was quite uneventful as he grew up living with the Mag'har. He kept a close relationship with his father, mainly to help with Drakkuth's own grief at the terrible accident. They became close, far closer than most father and son relationships, and Azolg would soon desire to follow in his fathers footsteps as a Pyremaster himself. Growing into his maturing years, he was around when Thrall came to visit Garrosh in Garadar. Seeing Green Orcs for the first time, and this supposed 'New Horde' intrigued him to no end; but there would be no time for him to leave until he was a fully fledged Pyremaster.

With Garrosh's departure to join the New Horde, time passed on and soon he had finished his studies, and even surpassed his father in his Pyremastery. His connection to Fire gave him an advantage that hadn't been seen in an age; such a boon was perfect for a Pyremaster. And as time went on he replaced his father, whom retired from most of his duties as age caught up with him.

The Rebellion: To Oppose A Tyrant.

When word reached the Mag'har that Garrosh had lost his mind to power, Azolg decided that he could stand by no longer. He had a power that could be used to fight, and Garrosh had come from the Mag'har. With his fathers blessing, he joined the Rebellion and helped overthrow the reign of Garrosh. After spending a little time in Orgrimmar, exploring the New Horde and the diversity it bought found the Red Blade Tribe. Deciding that he'd like to see just how different Tribe life is he joined up as a New Blood.

Back during this time, he kept his face covered by a skull mask, and stayed on the fringes of the Clan. Never interacting too much to get attached and more of an observer than anything else. He never took the Oath, but he held two pyres during this time - Sadok Sharptongue and Grogona Marshfang. The Tribe had come to trust him despite his distance and caginess; and to hold pyres for Orcs of such high standing was an honor he could not turn down.

It was during this time, and the Legion invasion that his father fell deathly ill. Abandoning all pretense, he returned home to be by his fathers side for Drakkuth's final days. The pyre he held when his father passed was perhaps the hardest one yet.

Spoiler: Current History: Joining The Clan For Good • show

Legion Invasion: Returning To The Fold.

After his fathers death and with the Legion invading the Broken Isles, Azolg decided that he could no longer stand by idle. Too long the Mag'har had stayed hidden in Garadar, and he wasn't going to do nothing. He remembered the friends he'd made during his short time with the Tribe fondly, and decided that through fire and flame he'd stand by them against the Legion. Though when he searched for the Tribe, he could not find them at all as it was during the time of dispersal the Tribe faced.

Instead, Azolg threw himself fully into the Horde efforts against the Legion. He fought in several battles across the Broken Isles and after exposure to such a Fel rich enviroment, eventually his skin turned green. It had been a great personal choice whether to do it or not - But in the end his purity was not worth it, it was better to fight to protect a world he called a second home that hide away and remain pure.

The Clan Calls: Returning To The Fold.



It was some months later that he received the mysterious summons

3

The Campfire / A Collection Of Experiences: Azolg's Travels

« on: November 26, 2017, 05:27:37 PM »

New Beginnings

Malaka’jin was utterly unimpressive as a holdout in of itself, yet it’s quiet seclusion bought Azolg some much needed time to consider the future. The dust swept across the camp at the behest of a smooth wind that gave the view a somewhat red tinge to things. Inhabitants went about their daily business of gathering food, skinning and some leatherworking here and there. It almost seemed reminiscent of Garadar; albeit on a much smaller, confined and inherently red coloured scale. It had become the temporary stopping point of the Red Blade Tribe, and while many Orcs did small day to day tasks to keep busy; others found themselves wandering the lands to hunt, scout or even just get away from it all. Azolg was one of the latter this day and leaning upon his staff he swept his gaze across the camp once more from his own peak of serenity.

He’d certainly changed quite a substantial amount since he first joined the Tribe, a couple of months before the split. Back then he’d been somewhat of a Garadar Orc still; both in appearance and his mannerisms, and even his tradecraft as a Pyremaster. He’d worn simple garb not suited for fighting back then, adorned with a sacred skull mask when meeting strangers outside the Clan - a tradition that had been reinforced by his father, and but a simple sword to offer the most basic of protection. Those times he still identified as a Garadar Orc and had taken a somewhat outsider's view on the Tribe - never really getting to involved with proceedings and taking far too long to earn his Oath. All that however had changed in recent months.

Breathing in slowly his gaze cast briefly to the hand that gripped the staff. He still wasn’t used to it, some ten months after he’d decided to fight on the Broken Isles. The green skin was a sickly colour to his eyes, yet it was no different now to nearly every Orc that resided on Azeroth. But for Azolg, this skin had been a deep, pure brown when he’d come to Azeroth. Uncorrupted, he’d taken great, if foolish, pride in being what was considered a “True” Orc. And for many years he retained that pride, wore it like armor against those who would speak out against him.

Now however his pride as a Mag’har had all but gone. It certainly had not been an easy decision to make for Azolg; the choice really boiled down to a pair of options. He could have headed back to Garadar, abandoned Azeroth and to it’s fate and waited out the oncoming storm. Or he could use the gifts and powers he’d been entrusted with; stand and fight with the world of Azeroth and perhaps maybe influence the outcome in even the smallest way possible; knowing that fighting on the Broken Isles, in such a fel-steeped area, for a prolonged period of time would eventually turn his skin green. It had happened to the Frostwolves whom had never drank the blood, there was no reason to believe he would be exempt from it either.

And thus with a heavy heart he’d done the right thing and taken the fight to the Demons on the shores of hellfire. Casting aside his skull mask and dull blade, he turned his back upon being a Mag’har to truly join the Horde of Azeroth, garbed in his impressive new gear and finally taking up the mantle of his father's staff - A relic that had been passed down his family for generations. The staff had been in his possession for some months now after his father's death; though he did not feel ready to use such an artifact until he’d earned it. However the time had long passed for that luxury; and with a heavy heart he’d resigned himself to “Earn it on the go”, so to speak.

Drawing his memories back to a more recent time, Azolg paused briefly as his gaze flickered back to the camp. A familiar face was up and about; Rhonya Steelheart, and he offered himself a somewhat sad smile at the sight of her. Just over a year ago, he’d performed the funeral rites for her mate; Sadok. A desperately sad time it was and even though Azolg had barely known Sadok; he knew that the orc was held in high esteem by the Tribe at large. It had been an honor to send his spirit soaring.

It was at this thought that his hand strayed to his satchel, feeling the contents clinking around. No Orc knew, but Azolg held several jars on his person at all times; each jar filled with a handful of the ashes of a Tribes-orc. Since his time during the Tribe he’d performed funeral rites for two Orcs; Grogona and Sadok. When the pyre had finished he’d taken a handful of the ashes; as is a Pyremasters duty to do so. The final jar he held was of one named Makaroth, an Orc whom had lost his mind to fel and been murdered by the Tribe for it. While he had not travelled with the Tribe at that point - he was in the vicinity of the fight and eventual pyre. Long after the others had left he’d snuck by and stolen some of the ashes. A smile crossed his lips briefly - the orcs most certainly would not understand why a Pyremaster would need a portion of the ashes, but it wasn’t for them to know; somethings would always stay secret.

His gaze now swirled around the camp once more - And he found himself thinking of the future this time. Where did he stand with the Tribe now he no longer was a Mag’har? While the Clan had never officially rejected him; he knew he could not be welcomed back in with his green skin; Mag’har in the common tongue meant “Uncorrupted.” and those who were corrupted no longer held a place within the Clan. Despite his best interests or desires - he was an Orc without a Clan, as he had no clue of his former Clan before the red pox. Whether this meant for a future as a true Red Blade Orc was up for debate; his first port of call was to head to the meeting this evening, and see just what lay in store.

A final gaze skyward to the sun in the sky; it’s rays warm on his skin. A smile crossed his lips gently as he closed his eyes, straightening his back and stretching once more. A whisper escaped his lips like a thief in the night, but it’s words carried a weight with them.

“For the blood of the Tribe.”

4

Off Topic / Red Blade Discord Server!

« on: March 13, 2017, 06:51:50 PM »

UPDATE:

The Discord Server is live! To join, simply click this link with Discord open and you'll be in. If any of you are having any issues with Discord, or need a helping hand setting it up then either leave a reply here, poke me on battletag at Turbo#21740 and i'll be more than happy to help out.

https://discord.gg/ZGHG94S


As im sure some of you might be aware, Discord is pretty amazing. It's a wickedly good platform to stay in touch with friends, it's lightweight and really doesn't lag your computer (Cough, cough SKYPE) and best of all it's free! I've been using it for about a year now, and it's really something I recommend. I was perhaps thinking of maybe setting one up for us Red Blade users! It's if nothing else a really great tool for everyone to stay in contact, that's a lot easier than Skype. I for example, am playing a lot of Overwatch/over games, and it's infinitely easier to organize playing with people in my honest opinion.

So i've made a strawpoll. If you'd be up for something like that, i'll make it happen! And if you're a bit daunted, i'll happily help people out in setting Discord up/how to use it. Let the voting commence I guess!

http://www.strawpoll.me/12522026

5

The Campfire / This Is The End

« on: December 14, 2016, 01:06:59 AM »

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCZblN6pBqA

Makaroth Bloodaxe
A tragic life filled with weakness.

He’d known this day was coming for the longest of times. Even though he’d acquired power untold, in the face of the Spirits he knew it wouldn’t have been enough. Yet he’d gone too far to seek redemption for his crimes, and now as he spirit lingered in this realm already he felt the tug of his corrupted soul drawn towards the Twisting Nether. Time seemed to move slowly as he watched the Orcs say their goodbyes, even in his death Kogra had kind words to say.

Deceived by a lie, convinced the illusion was truth he’d given himself freely to the Nathrezim, sure that this path was the only one that lay before him. The broken bodies of Vanara and Kagresha still burned in his spirit-visage, yet only now did he know they were fake. Perhaps he’d always been headed to this destination, perhaps this was always meant to be his path. Having spent most of his life a warlock he should have known true escape was never going to be achievable.

The shadows around him swirled and collected, ready to drag him to the depths of the Twisting Nether. He knew now that his soul was a plaything of the Legion, most like used as a rite to power some dark spell. When that happened he’d cease to exist - His soul wouldn’t simply be used, it would be destroyed utterly. A savage end for such a tragic existence, yet perhaps the most fitting one. He’d allowed his weakness to twist and deform him to the point where he had no longer become recognizable.

A few more moments and he’d be gone for good. His final thoughts lay with Vanara, the love of his life and very reason for wanting to quit Fel. They’d had their troubles but through it all, they’d come out stronger. He hadn’t deserved her in the slightest, yet still she had taken him, loved him and given him a daughter. A child that he had failed in every way possible, a child that he’d never see grow up. What a failure he’d become.

The shadows swirled once more and he felt a tugging on his soul now. His spirit was drawn towards the Twisting Nether, and his final thought was one of pure regret.

“I don’t want to die.”

Keishara Wildeye
The Huntress lost in a strange world.

Fate had been unkind to Keishara. While there were parallel universes stacked up on top of each other, very rarely did they ever cross. While the Keishara in this realm had died some years ago, she hadn’t in her own world. Yet as the timelines distorted when the people of Azeroth went through the portal into the Draenor world, such was the pressure of the timelines that she ended up in the wrong universe. A freak accident that should never have occurred. Yet here she had ended up, trapped in a world where she didn’t belong.
It had been obvious the moment she’d seen Trakmar, and since then her life had become hell. Shunned and shut away for fear she was an imposter, she’d come to realise that in this world she was dead. Those that she’d loved and adored had come to despise her no matter her attempts to engage them. From the point blank ignoring of Rhonya to Trakmar’s refusal to even speak to her she’d struggled to find her place in this strange Tribe. Even her brother Sadok alive once more wasn’t enough to keep her there.

Desperate and confused in her situation, and convinced she was either going insane or trapped in a nightmare, Keishara turned to Sadok as her only option. This however had earned her the rage of Kyrazha, who drove her away from the Tribe every time she tried to engage. Finally after being shunned for so long she’d abandoned them completely - Instead choosing to live alone in the wilds.

And that was where he’d found her. Cut off from the world and helplessly alone she’d put up barely a fight against Makaroth before being cut down. Trapped in the soul shard her spirit was helpless to escape, until the Orc had finally been defeated. The soul shard smashed she tasted freedom again, albeit briefly, to gaze upon Trakmar once more.

He was perfection to her despite his ill-tempered manner and grizzly visage. The Trakmar she’d loved on her world was exactly the same as this version. He’d always been softer around her yet fiercely protected. Their love was intense and countless times they’d fought side by side protecting each other. To go from that to this Trakmar who was cold and shunned her had been simply too hard to bear.

She smiled softly as she uttered her final words. She wasn’t sure if Trakmar thought she was “His” Keishara or the one he’d shunned but she didn’t care. To see Trakmar act protective and enraged once more, bought her happiness in the final moments of her spirit.

There would be no eternal plains for this version of Keishara. The accident had been fixed, and her spirit simply had nowhere to go. The timelines could not cross once more, and as the seconds past she simply faded away. When she’d sought out the Bronze Dragonflight she’d known this would come. The paradox couldn’t sustain itself, and so the foreign contaminant had to be removed. By her dying, she’d never have existed and thus restoring the balance.

In her final moment she felt not happiness, but pure dread and terror. The concept of not existing was too frightening a concept to behold.

“N-No .. N-No .. I don;-”

And then she was nothing.

6

The Campfire / The Beginning of the End.

« on: September 12, 2016, 03:17:33 PM »

The Beginning of the End: Madness

I. Am. Free.

After such a long time fighting everything, and such a long time trying to do the right thing - Makaroth Bloodaxe had finally found freedom. A true peace and tranquility in releasing his anger and rage. Without Emotion to worry about - There was nothing to stop him from following his hearts desires exactly; even if it included the destruction and downfall of those he cared for and adored deeply. His mind was focused on the goal ahead, and the new masters he served had given him the skillset to do so. He'd become a monster and monsters were free to do as they pleased.

Once more he'd taken the demons gifts and his body had once more mutated. Stolen away in the lowest point of his grief, the Legion protected him against the bargain with the Spirits. Though he'd done this willingly, what he'd given up in return was incomprehensible. His very soul was now tethered to the Twisting Nether, granting him protection from the Spirits vengeful nature. And that was just the start of his transformation. An ashen red tinge had become of his skin; similar to the fel-orcs of the alternative draenor. Spikes had erupted from his arms once more and his muscle mass had increased tenfold. The amour he'd worn beforehand now was a part of his body - Fused to his skin and offering a sort of metal natural hide across his legs and midsection. Perhaps the most drastric of his mutations was the fact his entire left hand had now become one large spike with several others poking off it - Nosh'marak and his sister Threkna would be proud of such an implement.

Threkna. Just another name now, another face to butcher that stood against the Legions might. Once he'd considered her Sister, now she was simply meat to be impaled.

Sight had returned to both his eyes due to the mutations, though both eyes now simply glowed a burning blood red colour - The sight of the Legion well established within him. A soft growl escaped Makaroth's throat as he looked around the area he was feeding his Felhound in on the Broken Shore. Perhaps the most interesting and final transformation was the return of his fel powers; not only was he a terrifying melee opponent but he'd retained all the spells he learned as a warlock, and as a result had become even more powerful. The Felhunter growled throatily in return as he placed a hand on it's head.

"A few more moments and we'll be off." He growled throatily, his voice reeling off the Demonic language with ease.

A pair of Felgaurds approached the orc, regarding him with a look before speaking "We are going with you on your task. The master has deemed it so."

Makaroth eyed the pair up, grunting in annoyance "We leave in two minutes." He spat, turning his back to the demons and summoning fel energy to his hands. He didn't even need to channel, nor perform a ritual or any kind to open a portal now. Such had his power grown he was able to rip portals straight from the fabric of the void now. The sickly green circle shimmered into existence, the burning power from it clearly noticeable here. He simply walked into the portal, the demons in tow.

One month earlier.

Makaroth bloodaxe wanted to believe it couldn't be real. He wanted to hope that those weren't their broken bodies, that they couldn't have perished here and now. That the head he held in his hands couldn't be Vanara Ashveil, nor the half-ruined face of the child beside him be Ka'gresha. But deep in his heart he knew - they'd died in the invasion. This was their remains he held and their bodies had been ripped apart from Demons. All around him the Invasion surged on but he didn't care one bit. He was happy to die, right here in this moment - Staring into the torn out eyes of Vanara and join her on the eternal planes together. Except, there'd be no release for Makaroth if he died here and now. His soul would be taken by the demons, used to power a soul engine of some kind, perhaps even be used in some kind of ritual. And yet he didn't move nor did he care of his fate. He knew that in this moment all he needed to do was cradle the head of Vanara and his cub he'd failed. Failed them both, to protect them. And he'd never forgive himself for such a fact, if he even survived the night.

All around him slaughter, death and destruction. Villages were burning and yet he didn't move. He simply couldn't, and besides what would happen? He'd make it a few hundred yards crying like a coward before being torn to shreds. It was at this moment he'd realised something was nearby. A felhunter approached him, growling and snarling as it sized him up for dinner, it's jaws dripping with the blood of the innocent. He looked up at the beast briefly and then closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable.

It never came.

Opening an eye he saw the beast darting off, though for what reason he couldn't know. Looking around he'd become aware of a massive beast demon behind him. It easily dwarfed him by five times and the wings themselves were colossal. Yet it had an elegant smile on its face - as the Nathrezim studied Makaroth with some curiosity.

"You have come a long way since Ma'veth, Bloodaxe." The Nathrezim murmered.

Makaroth's eyes widened in horror. This was the demon that had force-fed him the demonblood! Dropping Vanara and Ka'gresha's dismembered heads he tried to scuffle back in fear. The Nazrethim was far too strong for him to even contend against fighting. "Y-You!" He spat out, which was all he could say.

The Nazrethim grinned wickedly. With a flick of it's wrist, fel-green shackles bound Makaroth to the floor as it stepped forwards. "I spent a long time getting you ready, and those damned Tribe-orcs ruined -all- my work. I see now, that I had to give you more power. You weren't able to beat two of them in one-on-one combat. That crippled Shaman who's always grumpy and the one-eyed hag who couldn't fight to save her life. I didn't create you to be beaten so easily." It's voice was almost purring, as if trying to seduce him somewhat.

Makaroth had no words, he simply just stared in awe. Even at this distance he could feel the monsters power radiating. It was almost suffocating to be near.

The Nathrezimknelt down, offering a hand to Makaroth "You've lost everything. Your Tribe hates you, your mate and cub are dead. You have nothing to live for. Let me give you a reason to fight again. Re-ignite that hatred inside you. I will give you power untold this time, and it will be far easier if you are willing. You were a warlock once before, now it's time to return to the fold." It offered, giving an encouraging nod.

Makaroth looked all around. The death and destruction was endless; he could hear the cries of the fallen. Thinking hard he tried to use the Spirit Link, and yet it was as if it no longer worked for him. He couldn't call his Tribe to save him, and was he even worth it? Rhonya had tossed him aside. His closest friend had turned him away.

His eyes glanced down once more to the broken bodies of those he cared for the most. Vanaras mouth was slightly agape, and Ka'greshas was almost too ruined to recognised. Choking back tears he shook his head, looking back to the Nathrezim. Taking the beasts hand he uttered one word.

"Okay."

The Nathrezim grinned and pulled him to his feet "Welcome home Makaroth, destroyer of the Red Blades." The demon seemed to summon a portal instantly - guiding the broken and ruined Makaroth through.

When the portal faded - The broken corpses of Vanara and Ka'gresha turned to ash.

Azsuna, present day.

Makaroth emerged from the portal with his demons in tow. The Felguard hefted their axes onto their shoulders, while the Felhunter got quickly to work sniffing out the trail. Makaroth grunted, his eyes scouring the forest of Azsuna for their target. A Keishara Wildeye, Nag'ogar of the Tribe. She'd been hunting down demon parties for the longest time after being seperated from the Tribe. A fitting reminder that the Tribe is never safe from the Legions eye.

"Lets get to work."

7

Game Related / Demon Hunters; Assemble!

« on: August 07, 2016, 06:54:39 PM »

My lovelies.

Arkail and myself have come to the conclusion that our DH's are going to know each other prior to the DH starting area, as we're planning to RP them a little on the side! We've both agreed on a master/pupil situation, and then thought; what if anyone else wants to have our DH's know each other? Comradeship? Arch-nemesis's? Respected teachers? Whatever the case may be i'm simply making this thread to offer if anyone else would like to have a DH that at has history with other DH's!

In a nutshell - Consider this a thread to discuss possible previous knowledge of each others DH's! If you're up for wanting to be involved in such a thing - Fire away a reply!

I'd also like to draw attention to everyone of an upcoming week long RP meeting being held by Chillmire on Horde side: http://eu.battle.net/forums/en/wow/topic/17612223769?page=1

The premise is a week before the DH starting zone of Mardunn. A kind of final training, a final farewell situation wit events planned each night. It starts on the 21st of August - And if you're thinking of RPing a DH it might be a good chance for a bit of RP to figure out your character and the like - As it's set in the past anything you don't like you can simply change!


Current Members Of DH Club
Makaroth
Arkail
Nosh'marak
Gashuk
Krogon

8

Notice Board / Fury of Felwood

« on: August 03, 2016, 06:50:47 PM »

Fury of Felwood

Objective:
The recent wander up into Felwood has left a foul taste in many an Orcs mouth; but in no small measure to Makaroth's. The Wolf Spirit was displeased at the suffering of its kin, and many of us feel the same. A venture into the lands to put the wildlife out of their misery, providing that no cure can be offered for the beasts. Perhaps this will at the very least, ease the suffering of the Spirit of the Wilds.

Gul'thauk Makaroth will lead this venture; a minimum of four Orcs are required.

Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc.

Additional notes:
OOC: Hopefully holding this Thursday afternoon/Friday some point - Depending on whos about!


Status:
Incomplete

[Spoiler:]

9

Notice Board / Traversing Tiragarde! COMPLETED

« on: May 02, 2016, 10:46:08 PM »

TitleTraversing Tiragarde

Objective:
Gul'thauk Makaroth wants several Orcs to check out the ruined keep. Over the years it's become a place for either Alliance forces, cultists or bandits to take residence in the ruins. A small group should search through the ruined rubble; and if they find anything that needs removing. Remove it. This be a task aimed to give the Gul'thauk more to do around the Tribe. Any number of Orcs can go, but a requirement must be that a Gul'thauk either leads or is a part of the group.

Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc.

Additional notes:
Some notes for whoever DM's this event. Hidden in spoiler tag of the things you will find in the area. Your choice if you read this.

Spoiler: show

• The outside grounds are still in a vast array of mess. It appears that the area has recently been occupied. Tracks indicate an Orcs footprints.
• At the remains of what might be an inn; you'll find some scattered bits of scrap metal that can be melted down and used again.
• Inside the lower level of the keep some markings on the wall in dried blood. Evidently signs of a recent ritual of sorts.
• The upper floor you'll find the corpse of what appears to be an orc cultist. A tome next to him. It appears that the summoning circle on the ground means he was trying to summon a demon and failed.
• Finally at the very top of the keep (The walkway) you'll find a lockbox. Easily broken into, inside it are the cultists belongings. It appears his name was Jorgush Flameheart and some rough and rather insane looking plans to attack Orgrimmar.

Status:
Incomplete

10

Off Topic / Let Talk Dreams

« on: April 19, 2016, 07:39:03 PM »

So in the last few months i've become rather interested in my dreams. They confuse, baffle and amaze me at times so much so i've started keeping a Dream diary just so I can keep up to date with them (As we all know, lots of dreams we forget). I look into lots of different forums discussing the theory behind dreams and what they might possibly mean. Figured that as we all dream, lets start a thread to discuss each others dreams, maybe offer some insight into particular dreams we're concerned about or don't understand the meaning of - If any of you lot are into that sort of thing!

What dream spurred on this thread creation? My most recent one last night. It's been on my mind all day purely because it was so intimate and real. I mean, i've had dreams before where i've genuinely woke up and thought it was real (This happened today) And the crushing reality at 5am is just overwhelming.

As for the dream itself, it involved an old school friend whom I used to be friends with/somewhat interested in. Consisted of us meeting up in a bar and chatting before both admitting feelings for each other. There was no sexual activity in the dream (We've all had those) But the actual feeling of "Love" was simply overpowering as we spent that "Night" together to the point I woke up and thought she'd abandoned me during the night, seeing as my bed was empty. There were a few other points in the dream; a scuffle where I had to protect her against some drunk idiots before being kicked out of the bar but the majority of it was us to spending time together and talking, though im not sure what the words were.

The odd part? I haven't spoke to this person since the end of school 8 years ago. I have my own theories on why I dreamt of this dream and this person in particular. Yearning for a caring relationship and all that jazz.

So thats my dream out of the way, what about yours? Any recent dreams you'd like to share? I'd like this thread to be a place to discuss and get advice on your dreams if you're feeling confused/unsure - It's always helpful to get another view!

11

Off Topic / Heroes of the Storm weekend group!

« on: March 25, 2016, 07:45:33 PM »

Team is in place! Check this post for updates/dates/times!

As some of you are well aware, I play a fair bit of HOTS. I've even played with some of you on a regular basis! It got me to thinking, would any of you like try and forge out into Team League and do a semi-regular 1-2 times a week session to try and see where we get to. If you're interested, I was thinking of a Saturday and Sunday afternoon from say 1pm till 5pm UK time, 3-4 hours or so to jam a few games out. Might help us improve as players while also having some fun! If you're interested, fill out the small form below

My only request is no ragers, no complaining and just some fun focus. It doesn't matter if we win or lose; as long as we play well and have fun! Obviously we'll be using Skype!

Preferred role:
Secondary role (If we we need to fill):
What can you bring to the team?:
Best hero/s?:


Current lineup:

Makaroth: Warrior/Support
Vanara: Assassin/support
Trakmar: Specialist/Assassin
Grogona: Support
Khrugh: Assassin/Warrior/Specialist

Reserves (Sorry :<)
Rakmal, Regorn, Kronnor, Mozrogg.

Next session: Saturday/Sunday 2nd/3rd April - 12:30PM GMT (1.30pm WoW Servertime)

12

The Campfire / Ma'veth

« on: March 21, 2016, 06:09:05 PM »

Ma'veth

The Lost Planet

Where am I?
This doesn't make sense.
Im lost. Everything was going okay, right? I mean .. It was all fine. All good.
What did I do wrong?
Why is this happening?
Who did this to me?
How did I get here.
I want to go home.
I don't want to die out here.
Help.
Please.
Help.

It had been just over a week since he was pulled through the portal by some shadowy claw; or at least he thought it had been a week. Time didn't exist on this world it seemed, merely a system of madness that swirled endlessly around in the sky. A shifting, whirling mismatched shape of colours that never stopped merging into one amalgation of insanity. This was the Twisting Nether in it's true form, the area that connected worlds together via the astral plane. A mirage of nothingness that could be traversed via deadly magics and an enterprising smart mind. It didn't even seem possible that Makaroth was where he was standing now, and had he not crossed the Dark Portal himself during his time alive he might not have. But he knew that the Twisting Nether was a means to travel to different realms, and he knew that the planet he stood upon was real.

And the planet was something else entirely.

It might have been populated once, been a realm of a great and ancient civilisation. Except now it stood as vanquished world of the Burning Legion. The signs of destruction were everywhere. Ruined buildings stood nearby still fel-marked with green singes and even the mountains themselves had been marked by the Legion. Now however it was truly abandoned and a husk of what it might have once been. He had no idea if this planet even had a name, how far from Azeroth it was or if he was even able to survive out here. There was air for sure but it was thin and the first few days had made Makaroth feel light-headed. He'd found a pool of water that appeared somewhat fresh enough and had made that his "Base camp" for now at least. Food was scarce however; he'd found a few roots and hardy looking weeds but aside from a few strange looking creatures that were too fast to catch he'd not found any real sustainable food.

It was a dire situation for certain. He'd found no sign of sentient life yet, had no idea exactly where it is he was and not a single clue how to get back home. Obviously the Spirit-Link didn't work out here as there most likely weren't any spirits on this world. He didn't even know what magic did exist here, could he even use Fel once more to get back home? All these questions he had no answers to yet as the days went on he worried more and more what was going to happen to him.

I'm going to die out here.

The thought was terrifying inside his mind, but it rung so true. In truth he didn't have a single clue just how he was going to survive out here. The roots and weeds he'd been forcing down most likely didn't have the nutrients his body needed, he'd need some meat soon lest his body begins to fade away.

He'd explored somewhat, and had managed to fashion a wooden spear from some dried logs he'd found amid the rocky plains. But never more than an hour or two from his campsite. He knew he'd have to branch out soon enough to explore further, but he was entirely afraid of doing so; how much more of this rocky wasteland could he handle seeing before he lost his mind? Hell, he was on the verge of it already.

What did I do wrong?

It was then that he heard a sound, of a portal being opened. A scream in the distance and then silence. His eye picked out the flickering remains of portal energy. He growled, spear in hand and set out to find his way. Enough was enough.

13

Red Blade Records / Makaroth Bloodaxe

« on: February 28, 2016, 12:41:32 PM »

Name: Makaroth Bloodaxe
Alias: "Fel-marked."
Rank: Gul'thuak

Age: 44
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Clan: Not known to him, but Bleeding Hollow.
Class: Warrior
Alignment: Chaotic Good

Family:

• No actual "Real" family members alive.
• Vanara Ashveil (Mate)
• Rhonya Steelheart (Blood-Sister by Oath)
• Kogra Windwatcher (Blood-Sister by Oath)

Known Friends: Rogkar (Irontusks), Blitz, Tamrah, Hrakk, Serguis (Deceased)
Known Enemies: Kaagran.

Appearance:
Time has not been kind to Makaroth over the years. Age has shown great wear and tear on his face and body with wrinkles and age lines popping up all across it; most likely a combination of age and fel-usage.  Yet despite all this he looks stronger and healthier than when he first joined the Tribe, having moved on from the Fel usage of his past. A somewhat muscled and lithe body instead of a true hulking berserker, it's evident that daily workouts are an important part of his routine.

Half of his right ear is missing, bitten off by the warlock Kaagran. Yet the most striking feature of his face is the missing left eye and clawed up empty socket that remains, a tale there to tell for sure. The claw scars travel from the top of his forehead all the down to just above his mouth; not neat nor impressive but a clawed up ugly mess. Completely bald his head shows several nicks and scrapes across it from years of fighting yet his beard still grows thickly and has yet to turn grey; although it's a shaggy mess and clear he cuts it with little care with a knife. The final important feature to note is the tattoo on his right thigh; a snaking matt black tribalish design that wraps around his entire leg. The actual meaning of said tattoo isn't really known, as none have bothered to ask to date; of course this can only be seen when naked, but Makaroth spends a lot of time naked during Tribe downtime.

Moving onto his armour and weaponry it's clear it's crafted care, skill and expertise. Not by his own hand however yet once again nobody knows just how he paid for such an expensive set of armour, or who even crafted it for him; as no orc has ever asked when he rocked up in the set. The red metal blends with the wrought iron deceoration and the blades upon his shoulderguards add yet another offensive outlet. The armour is finished off nicely with a helmet that matches the colour scheme of his entire attire, along with a bladed top. The visor is thin, but allows a good field of vision when fighting, which brings us to weaponry. The axe at his belt is another well-crafted weapon although it's difficult to identify what metal it's made of unless you got a good look at it. Orcish in design and adornments the most interesting and important thing about the weapon is whenever he holds the handle; the cutting edge of the blade heats up somewhat. An enchantment certainly; but who could have done such a thing?

Personality:
At first meeting Makaroth comes across as a positive and friendly Orc, sociable and with a well versed tongue that often slips out wit and charm. Of course while a lot of this is a want to be that way, some of it certainly is a face he slaps on to ensure his position in the Tribe remains the same; held with a degree of respect. Deep down he is frustrated at a lot of things that have happened. Even after quitting Fel magic the withdrawal affects him deeply and the struggle is still real for Makaroth. A constant need and want to be useful to the Tribe lives deep within him, which also backs up this "Face" that is slapped on from time to time.

Yet it is not entirely an act, as he does hold passion within his heart for those who need help and care. Ever the pacifist and diplomat he has a strong view on peace in our time in regards to the Alliance and other conflicts. He'd rather talk a difference out than take a life if possible as he realizes all lives are worth something, all lives can be changed if given enough motivation. This however does not make him a soft heart; and it's clear he knows when the time for words has to end.

Post-Tribe History:

Separated this into Pre-Tribe and Post-Tribe History (Pre-Tribe below, because it was simply -too- big.



Things you may know about this character:

• Practiced Fel magic for the better part of thirty years.
• Previously had a mate called "Khalrah" whom he adored completely, until her untimely death in the Siege of Orgrimmar. They'd been together for the better part of ten years.
• During the Siege of Ogrimmar, became close friends with a Draenei named Serguis, whom he recently had to kill after Serguis turned to Fel-magic.
• Is an expert knitter. Seriously, he's the boss.
• When giving up Fel magic; the Spirits granted him a boon in healing his heart and lungs that had become so damage by Fel corruption over time he was close to death. With such boons come a bargain, and in return for that act he is forbidden from using any form of magic ever again, lest the Spirits claim his life.

Things you may not know about this character:

• Makaroth is a compulsive, yet extraordinarily good, liar.
• He isn't actually that much in love with Vanara. Sure he likes her and knows she is caring, but he regrets taking his oath so quickly out of haste as he thinks she is utterly idiotic, stupid and has pretty much no intelligence whatsoever. He accepts his position and sticks to his word; simply acting now that he cares deeply while his only interests are the amount of porking Vanara puts out and the cub she carries.
• He secretly wishes he'd never given up Fel magic; even going so far as to research ways to escape the bargain he made with the Spirits.
• Skilled at tattooing; yet has only ever performed one session for the Tribe, which was the runic tattoo on Rhonyas back. The whole process took two sittings and about three hours.
• Quietly has a secret lust for Kogra and Rhonya, ironically whom he has made his sisters by oath. Hey, he's a pervert.
• Slept with a Blood Elf during Hallows End, while he and Vanara were courting. To this day, no other living person knows about this.
• Doug will return.

Memorable Quotes:
"Doug keeps me safe."

14

The Campfire / Welcome Home

« on: November 09, 2015, 06:35:29 AM »

Family is that thing that keeps us going through all the pain and suffering in the world, even if we inevitably perish.

Present day

Nearly three long years. Three years lost, wandering and without direction. It had seemed so long ago since she saw Savvy the spider butchered at Razor Hill. The rebellion had been the cause of her separation and yet things seemed to be coming full circle as her boots trudged through the dusty familiar ground of Durotar. No wolf to carry her and only the endless trudging of her feet she'd searched for them once more – The Tribe that she called home and the one true place she'd belonged in her undeath. Can it be? Will I finally be reunited with those I had come to appreciate? Rhonya .. I hope she still lives. Round and round her thoughts circled her head as she pressed onwards, fatigue not stopping nor slowing her.

She checked her satchel once more to ensure a certain object was still there; the now tattered and battered book of emotions Rhonya had made for her. Well-worn through time and a relic of their friendship, she offered a small smile beneath her helmet.

Soon, i'll see you again .. Sister.

Two and a half years prior, just before the Siege of Orgrimmar

The chains were tight on her arms and those that lay around her ankles allowed her little movement. A growl escaped her throat in anger as the Kor'kron shoved along roughly – spitting on her saronite plate. “Move it y'piece of shit, I ain't got all day to wait for you.” The guard growled, keeping the sharp on his blade in the small of her back.

She'd been captured just days after leaving Razor Hill by a group of patrolling Kor'kron. After a short skirmish they'd managed to defeat and subdue her. Yet once they found out she was a Red Blade member they'd whooped and cheered and took her prisoner instead of killing her,

Dabina snarled and bared her fangs “When i'm free, your soul will be the first I claim.” She threatened as he glowing eyes flared with rage.

“Keep talking like that and i'll claim y'head. Now MOVE.” The guard snarled, nuging her forwards once more.

~#~

The Siege was well underway by now as Dabina once again strained to snap her chains. The guards watching her for the last month had abandoned their posts to join the hectic fighting in the streets, leaving Dabina unattended in the ramshackle hut that resided in the drag. Snarling and growling in annoyance she once more desperately tried to snap the chains, yet even her undead strength allowed her no quarry. Looking around with desperation on her face she spied her runeblade nearby, along with the precious satchel. The sounds of fighting grew ever closer now – Victory in the Hordes voices and Dabina took her chance, bellowing loudly to attract the attention of anyone nearby.

“Help! In here! I be a prisoner, a Horde soldier!”

Moments passed as she waited with anxious tension, desperately hoping that her cries out be answered. The tent flap quivered then flung open as a massive troll entered, eyeing up Dabina with a raised eyebrow.

“Y'be able t'fight, Deathwalker?” The Troll growled, holding his axe firmly.

Dabina growled, nodding quickly “Set me free, and my runeblade will thirst for their souls.”

The Troll smirked softly, swinging his axe in two vicious arcs; her chains falling to the floor. “Fight well Sistah'.” he murmured and charged back out into the fray.

A final growl escaped Dabinas lips. She moved first to her satchel, ensuring the book was still in there. Flinging it across her shoulder she grasped her runeblade; feeling her powers heightened as both her body and blade became one again. She bellowed loudly charging out of the hut and letting loose that famous battle-cry.

“For the blood of the Tribe!”

Six months after the Siege of Ogrimmar

“What do you mean you dont know where they went?!”

Dabina roared loudly, slamming a fist into the table in frustration; which only further frightened the Orc innkeeper further by her intimidating presence. They'd been at the Siege, even fought during it and yet somehow she had missed them. By the time she'd known they were there it had been three months that they'd left the area. Three months behind the trail of the Blades; it seemed she was destined never to find them again.

“I .. I don't know where they went, im sorry!” The innkeeper spluttered in fear.

Cursing loudly she looked down to her map of kalimdor again. “They were seen here three months ago in the Barrens. Just passing through I heard – It's not hard to follow they're steps; they're a huge Tribe! I can't even contact them Orc, I can't use the Spirit Link!” She bellowed, growling even further towards the innkeeper now.

“Your best bet is to head south .. Thats the only place I think they may go, they came from the North and were headed south!” He whimpered softly.

South ...

~#~

I'm never going to see them again. I cant find them, I can't contact them and no-body i've met is able to de-ward this spell the Kor'kron put on me.

Her thoughts had turned desperate now as she sat in Camp Mojache, Feralas. Watching the rain come trickling down a sigh that held no breathe escaped her lips; she'd been searching for nearly a year now, chasing the trails and whispers of those that the Tribe had followed. Now she was at a dead end, unsure of which direction to even walk in. She wasn't tired; her body didn't suffer the effects of fatigue but she was exhausted mentally – Once more a deathwalker without purpose.

Her hands rose to her head cradling them softly and she felt nothing but sorrow.

Just over a year ago, after the invasion of the Iron Horde.

News. At last! I know where they are .. Time, time runs out on me.

Her plated boots thundered down the pebble-dashed road; each step crushing stone beneath her boot as she forced her body to run as fast as she could. She'd heard the news one eve' in Gadgetzan that the Dark Portal had turned a deep swirling red and that a new foe had stepped across to invade Azeorth. Called the Iron Horde their numbers seemed endless, and volunteers had been called in to form a strike force – through the portal to whatever lay on the other side.

And who was at the forefront? The Red Blades of course. Ever the paragons of the Horde the word was the Blades were joining the vanguard to strike out at the Iron Horde. She would make it there in time – in time to fight and protect her fellow tribesorcs. If it was to be their end, then she would be there with them right until the end.

~#~

“What?! What do you mean the vanguard has already gone through?!” She bellowed at the Goblin, who simply seemed to raise a nose with disintrest.

“Yes, quite so you rude thing. The vanguard broke through about twelve hours ago im afraid. You'll just have to wait until they come back.” The goblin growled, looking around the camp briefly.

Dabina wasn't waiting. Grasping her runeblade she forced her way down, heading towards the Dark Portal. She'd go through on her own, strike out against the legions of Iron Horde and find the Tribe – regardless of what lay beyond. Nothing would stop her finding those she cared for.

The deep red portal suddenly flickered, then faded from existence.

Dabinas rage was unending. The remaining Iron Horde trapped on Azeroth had never seen such fury in their lives, and in the last few seconds of their existence before Dabina tore them asunder – They came to wonder whether joining the Iron Horde had really been all that worth it.

One year later, nearly present day.

A year. A whole year sat in the Blasted Lands waiting. Scouts had returned from the Draenor expedition and she'd stuck around the frontlines to hear what was being told. She knew they were alive, and she knew that the Draenor conquest was leaning towards victory. But there was no way to reach them and no way to contact them – What with the ward still being in place. Time seemed irrelevant now and as she counted the seconds in her head she could feel the strings of madness tugging at her mind.

“Dabina! Haven't you heard the word of the last few days? The Blades have returned from Draenor! I hear they came back some weeks ago and are residing in the Tirisfal Glades!” The Goblin foreman she'd met the first day yelled out, offering a curt wave.

Hope surged in what remained of her heart and she stood up instantly, sheathing her rune-blades. Finally, I can go home.

15

The Campfire / Makaroth's Musings

« on: July 22, 2015, 01:30:25 AM »

Blood Drinking

~A younger, more foolish Makaroth~

Stonard. A hot, humid and grim place to be by all accounts. Yet it served as the Tribes next step unto the coming conflict, and Makaroth Felscream was ready. Grunting softly to himself he leaned aginst the tree as his gaze flickered across the sleeping Orcs in the camp; some resting on rolled up bedrolls, some bedrolls thrown over him. A smile lifted to his lips as his gaze turned to Bloodpaw, and Orc he considered a friend already. His promises of slaying Makaroth if he ever betrayed the Tribe had a subtle undertone; It was a plea to stay true on the path Felscream had started treading. His eyes closed as sleep began to take ov;-...

“Step up.” Gul'dan murmured.

A much younger Makaroth closed the gap between the gaggle of Orcs and the first warlock. Ahead of him was a cauldron filled with the vile green blood that they were there to consume. His brown eyes locked with Gul'dans red ones – The warlocks visage was terrifying to behold and utterly alien. Yet Makaroths heart thirsted for power unlimited.

“Drink.” Gul'dan murmured, forcing the cup into the childs hands.

Makaroth's whole body trembled as his gaze looked down to the makeshift wooden cup. The vile green liquid seemed to steam, filling his nostrils with an overpowering yet addicting smell. He knew even then that this would destroy his body, and yet at a tender young age – Makaroth thrust the cup to his lips and drank heavily.

The effect was instantaneous. He fell to his knees, gagging and squirming on the floor as his fingers clawed in the mud. A red haze descended across his gaze and he could only feel his skin crawling as the demon blood tarnished it forever. The chanting behind him was deafening as the Orcs egged him on. He could feel the eyes of Gul'dan boring into the back of him as he struggled on the floor in agony.

Soon, it passed, and Makaroth rose to his feet in defiance of the blood. A howling roar escaped from his lips as his body burned with power. Lost in the lust of it all, he turned to an Orc he'd despised since a young child. His hands twisted into cruel shapes, green fel magic forming around them, before the formed into one fireball that he launched at the Orc. The group seemed to back away instantaneously as the fireball consumed the Orc – Leaving nothing but blackened bones in his wake. Makaroth's red eyes settled on the bones as a primal roar escaped his lips once more.

“THIS. THIS IS THE POWER OF GUL'DANS GIFTS. STEP UP AND DRINK, CLAIM YOUR DESTINY. TAKE THIS POWER FOR YOUR OWN.” Makaroth bellowed at the crowd, raising his hands to the sky at his new found abilities. The chanting continued as the next volunteer stepped up ready to take his pri;-...

Makaroth jerked awake screaming at the memory. After a brief moment he quietened his voice, staring around the camp to ensure he'd woken no Orc. Panting and wiping sweat from his brow, he leaned against the tree once more. Sleep wouldn't come easy again, as the memory was fresh in his mind once more. A never-ending loop of terrible memories.