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[Krogon Devilstep]

So! if your character was any -other- character from any other fictional universe who would they be? this is based on personality, habits, looks, and most other things. feel free to post multiples and throw in some pictures!


Krogon Devilstep


Mister ra's al ghul on the left here with mister bruce wayne, suits Krogon's personality and methodolgy down to the core. The character himself is very tactical and very much the modern master ninja. he see's things in strict black and white terms and isnt afraid to do what he must in order to get a task done.



Hattori Hanzo! from kill bill, Based on a real life Samurai/ninja in service to the first tokugawa Shogun after the samurai wars in the 16th century. in Kill bill he's a retired assassin and the worlds greatest blade smith. He shos a more fun top layer personality with a brooding and mournful side when reflecting on the past.




And thats me! have a go yourselves!

So i was pondering last night about fighting styles IC after some duels. And wanted to ask you guys how you see your characters fighting style, how does it look? how does it work? so i thought the best way to go about it is put up a forum thread and ask people to link videos of what inspires them toward their style and shows it off best!

Krogon's sword play (he's the dude in black armour): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfviAcCeMxY

out on the 'job', and because i love these videos: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1nqc7ZSjOM

you can show any style at all, be it archery, hand to hand or paticular weapons! hell, even magic if you find the right video!

[The Sohei.]

So as some of you may know, i've been deeply considering the idea of making krogon a monk for some time now. essentially what my decision rests upon is two things... and i need a little help through opinions and thoughts. here are the two main factors.

1) Do i enjoy the monk class

2) does the change make sense IC?

So disregarding the question of if i enjoy monk, because only time and experience will tell that...  the only thing remaining is to look at Krogon as a blademaster, and monk as a class. All in all warrior/rogue matches it well enough as a sword wielding 'martial artist'. The question is, what sets krogon apart enough to go monk?

Well blademasters in general are very spiritual, have a deep connection to the spirits and elements. but is Chi the same? i have some doubts though i'd like it to be.

My thoughts are that as a warrior krogon was very much a 'samurai', as a rogue he's gone more down the road of the dark 'ninja' arts. as a monk? what would that be? ...well...





The Sohei.

The sohei were militant budhist monks in feudal Japan. fascinating chaps, rather deadly and feared to boot. they mainly wielded, or atleast were famous for, the Naginata. a very specialised polearm, of which several polearm models in MoP match up to (and monks can use them).

heres some information on them...   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C5%8Dhei

further more they tended toward wearing face-wraps/masks... and thats easily matched using paticular items. whats more, the old lansestror of the blade polearm i used to use on krogon as a warrior, could be used again as a monk... VER blademaster'ish.

All in all, its the sort of style i would go down, my question is does a krogon thats more about technique rather than crazy speed or shadowy tricks... seem realistic? i need to udnerstand the perception other characters/players have of him. i could still wind walk using my old invis potion macro, but the character would essentially only be changed by how his pvp gear would look (black mask/polearm and the rest is his current set) rather than his IC gear, which wouldnt change... as Sohei still used katana, but we can see.

i know the comparison is odd, and i'm prying into some strange spots of history and culture, but this is what i came up with.

so... opinions please! as i really need them.

Hello! As some of you may know, many guild related achievements yield up some rather lovely perks, an example would be the ones for the cloaks and the broiled dragon feast. Another is the mix master achievement, this gives us the ability to make a Cauldron of battle! (no doubt very handy, and a cute effect).

Being that my rogue is an alchemist and i generally need something to do, i thought i'd see if anyone would be up for assisting me in either hoarding herbs to make Flasks for the achievement (need to make 1000 Cataclysm flasks) or working together as a guild in some other way.

After any flasks are made i was going to propose that any that come from a communal effort be sold on the Ah, and the profit placed in the Guild bank. Any made by individuals off their own back can no doubt be sold for their own ends.

I just thought it a wise idea to team up for this! and who knows, theres other achievements to get too!

Thanks for reading - Krogon.

[A Burning Blade.]

Pain, the stinging sensation across his cheek thrust him back into reality and from the black world of unconsciousness. Nerk’ag gradually came too, his vision turning from nothing, to blurs and then shapes. He’d been slapped, and with a strong mail clad hand no less.

Lifting his still unsteady blurred gaze to that which had struck him, Nerk’ag’s eyes landed upon something no Warlock ever wants to see looking over him, A Blademaster.

The Orc Formally known to him as ‘Nogork’ was now stripped down to his own regalia, a Bare chest, Sandals, the iconic Thigh armoured pants and the very image of Tribe red blade, a Wolf mask sat atop his head. Furthermore, he now held an ornate sword in his mail clad hand, while the second blade rested at his right hip. The blades tip was pointed firmly at the neck of Nerk’ag, beads of sweat running down every side within a second of seeing it. He could see this Orc had exerted himself; sweat glistened on his green skin despite the dark glow of Shadowmoon, blood and gore decorating his dimly lit visage to the like of some sinister devil.

He was outside now, in the area just in front of the strongholds main gate.Looking up he found his hands bound in chains that were bolted to the top of a large timber impaled deep into the fel scorched earth with his back rested against it. Lowering his gaze to his captor, Nerk’ag struggled to comprehend how he had gone from Halok’s chambers to this point. He could remember nothing, but simply guessed it had something to do with the throbbing pain at the back of his head.

“I have questions, Warlock, you will answer them” Came a Coarse voice from the mouth of the Blademaster, his chin moving in such a fashion that his lengthy grey beard bobbed and raised.

Nerk’ag resisted the urge to panic and squeal. Surely there was a way to survive this agent of the enemy and keep the secrets of the coven intact, his superiors would do terrible things to him should he break under interrogation.

“And try not to lie or you shall meet the same fate as the others” came a prompt but snappy demand.

Nerk’ag hissed, shaking his head in confused bewilderment. What had this Red blade done with the others? Glancing left and right he saw nothing but the rocky wastes of Shadowmoon. It wasn’t until he looked upon the Blademaster again he realized his captor was purposely standingclose in front of him. With but a few light sandal steps to his own left, the view the Red blade had been masking was unveiled.

The sight immediately made him wail in horror, pulling at his chains in a vein attempt to escape. The Blademaster had meticulously killed every member of the stronghold, rending them, cutting them up. Limb from limb, torso from abdomen, Head from neck. It was an effigy, a trophy, a mound of body’s and contorted faces stacked as tall as two Orc’s. Green skin, Red skin, Blood. Eventually forcing himself to look in more detail, Nerk’ag saw faces he knew, fellow students, Grunts and even the still stunned face of Halok mingled between severed limbs. This was vicious barbarity, a ferocious statement of capability.

“Beast! You shall pay for this, when the crone learns of this she will smite-“ Nerk’ag stopped himself with a splutter, he’d spoken of her. Twisting his own face he cursed his stupidity, the Blademaster was trying to force an outburst, and had part succeeded. Nobody was permitted to talk of the crone, speaking of her existence beyond the instructors was punishable by lashings or even death. The mound of body’s was an act of precision, a well calculated assault on the reflexes and reactions of the easily shocked.

The red blade grinned cruelly, tilting his head to study his cornered prey’s emotion with calm triumph. Nerk’ag looked away from the gaze, his eyes falling to a second spectacle that had been erected only feet from the first. This time a Red Blade banner stood proudly waving in the winds of the valley. At the base of the pole sat three severed heads, each of a fel Orc. They were enormous, all covered in degraded rotten flesh. They all looked familiar.

Nerk’ag knew them, or had at least seen them in life. These three were once Blademasters of the Fel horde,eventually servants of the crone, and often visitors to this stronghold. They had been picked off by some unknown assassin over the length of the year, their heads taken as trophies. It seemed the identity of the shadow who had stalked these behemoths was now known.

Nerk’ag growled, it was infuriating, he would not let some sword spinning, spirit worshipping, senile old Talbuk in a wolf mask intimidate him.

“You think yourself clever Blademaster!? My mistress will burn the flesh from your hide! Pull your bones apart as you beg for a death that wont come! Your two little trophy mounds do not scare me!” Nerk’ag roared with limp defiance, He had little but his anger now.

“Three” the earthy voice of the Red blade spoke in reply, that cruel wolfish grin flashing.

Nerk’ag fell limp in his bonds, his face contorting in realization as to what this Orc meant. He was number three. He could only watch as the Blademaster raised the sword slowly, and with the lick of swirling red shapes it ignited into flame, plunged with swift precision into its target.

Nerk’ag went to scream, but found no air in his burning lungs to push forth. The blade had speared straight through his breast bone to the base of his wind pipe and finally out and into the wooden beam he dangled from. The pain melted away all resistance in him, only able to watch as the scourge of his kind walked away with steady calm, even leaving his precious sword thrust into his last victims chest.

Nerk’ag looked down, flame and ember spitting and hissing while it scorched away his hide, the searing molten edge doing its work. He would be found here, a corpse with a still flaming weapon in his body.Forever an example to all those who would cross the chieftain of tribe red blade in such a way that he would send forth his most deadly servants. All would know what strikes down those who lurk amongst the fel and shadow with only ill intent in their hearts.

A Burning Blade.

Nerk’ag did not like being treated like a simpleton. Sure, he was nothing more than a student, a glorified servant or even a peon to his master. But even acolytes have limits on patience, and being woken in the middle of the night to escort guests around was testing him. He liked his master Halok; he wasn’t cruel to his direct underlings, unless tiring them to exhaustion could be perceived as such.

Nerk’ag walked down the dark corridor until he came to two large iron doors, both open ajar. Pushing them open he walked into the Gate chamber, his eyes first landing on the Mighty Felsteel portcullis and the gate ahead of it descending and closing with a clank and grind of heavy mechanisms. Adjusting his eyes to the light of the green brazier flame, he saw three Fel Orc guards clustered around a green skinned figure clothed and hooded in bulky jet black robes. A green key orb was clutched in the right hand of the visitor, signifying his identity as a member of the conclave at the least; such precious things were not given out idly.

“You have a key orb warlock! But we must know your business!” Growled the largest Fel Orc, his massive scimitar waving around with threatening intent.

“My Business is with the master and master alone! Now lead me to him at once, it is urgent” Hissed the robed Orc, a grey beard shifting and moving within the hood with each syllable. Soon enough his gaze landed on Nerk’ag, a hand raised and pointed at him with purpose. “You! Take me to the master at once, I have dire news” he snarled.

Nerk’ag did not enjoy being commanded like a dog, especially by strangers who assumed superiority. Raising his own hand he waved the three Red skinned grunts away disdainfully. Disgruntled, the trio shuffled back to their small fire and rest place in the shadows with disapproving growls. Trained Guard dogs and nothing more Nerk’ag reflected with a bemused smirk, turning his back he strolled toward the iron inner doors once more assuming the guest would follow instinctively. He was rewarded with the sound of footsteps following him from close behind, though that that of bare feet, odd.

“What is your name stranger, so that I may introduce you to my master properly?” Nerk’ag found himself saying with a stifled yawn. His mind automatically preparing for the coming meeting, ritualised and clockwork as usual with all guests.

“My name is Nogork, I am a messenger from our highest Authority, and the message is for your master first above all, before you even ask!” Grunted the newcomer haughtily, as if greatly put out by this simplest of questions.

Sometimes Nerk’ag loathed all this secrecy, hidden agenda’s, codes, and the ritual like way all this business was done. It almost seemed as if the left hand didn’t know what the right hand did, while its counter part knew most things but both were controlled by some unseen Third hand.

“Very well then Nogork, my master is in his chambers where he shall receive your message in person” commented Nerk’ag with an exhausted sigh. It had been a long day of study and practice; midnight was a poor hour to be escorting guests he thought.

The two slowly moved through the Dark hallways, lined with walls of black stone lit by braziers of green fel flame. Doors were everywhere, inside some was nothing more than crates, in others bunk beds with sleeping dark green skinned orc's upon them. Many even had glowing ritual circles, adorned alters, stacks of librams and grimoires and relentless students still hard at work with learning their art. The Stronghold never truly slept, it seemed.

After what seemed an agonising lifetime and a dozen turns and even a set of stairs, the corridor ended with a massive Black wooden door, imposing and shut tight. Coming to a stop Nerk’ag lazily knocked twice, and waited. A shutter promptly opened and a large black eye leered out, ringed with dark red skin and spikes. A snort of approval came as the shutter was closed again with a snap. The sound of locks being turned followed then the door swung open on its enormous steel hinges, allowing a greater degree of hazy green light to shine out. Nerk’ag shuffled in with the messenger in short order.

Sure enough, Halok sat on a large wooden throne. The master warlock’s dark green face twisted in discourtesy and annoyance, he was making clear his anger at being woken at such an hour.

As the door shut behind them, Nerk’ag turned his head to eye the two fel Orc guards stood either side of it, armoured and carrying scimitars. Neither moved yet emitted growls and gargles ominously.

“My master! This is Nogork, a messenger from the Mistress brought for your ears only” Nerk’ag spoke up curtly, bowing low before backing away to make room for his master’s guest. Halok furrowed his brows, the surprisingly bulky frame of the senior warlock shifting to allow him to lean forward in the throne. Raising one arm covered in dark purple cloth from his robes, Halok ushered ‘Nogork’ to come forward.

“Bring your news then, we have not all night!” growled Halok, allowing the messenger to take several light steps towards him before he kneeled.

“Beneficent master, I bring a message from one greater than us for you only, May I show it to you?” spoke the guest, his hefty black robes shifting as he looked up to Halok from his kneeling position.

Halok sneered, almost disgusted at having to put effort into the meeting. Slowly standing up from his grand seat he stepped forward until he stood directly in front of the messenger.

“And what message is that? Do not prattle with courtesy and time wasting, spit it out!” barked Halok, the senior warlock’s muscular frame contorting with rage as he leered down.

Slowly looking up from under his hood, the messenger raised his right hand carefully only to turn it over facing palm up to the sky. Halok pursed his lips, looking at the hand a second.

“For the Blood of the tribe, Warlock” whispered a voice from beneath the hood.

Nerk’ag strained his eyes in the poor brazier light; he could see a scar across the messenger’s palm, long and slender. But more importantly it was burned. The whole inner hand was one giant burn scar, a strange mark for certain. Turning his gaze back to his master, Nerk’ag watched Halok’s face change in stages over a second.

First, Halok looked confused, as if trying to comprehend the purpose of being shown the Orc’s maimed inner hand. Second, upon hearing the message his eyes became wide as if hit by sudden comprehension. With the immediate contortion of his mouth and cheeks it was clear he was struck by terror.

Halok flung back his right hand allowing it to begin forming a dark green flame of fel ready to strike Nogork where he knelt; roaring in anger Halok spewed all the words Nerk’ag needed to make sense of the situation.

“You fool! You let a Blademaster into the stronghold!”

Shock and horror suddenly surged through Nerk’ag, bewilderment rooting him in place as he could only watch what unfolded. The right hand Nogork had been holding out had moved into his robes and to his left hip with a speed the eye could not believe, and with equal impressive grace snapped back out again. Only upon its return the Orc stepped forward, slashing out at Halok with a sword he had kept hidden within the layers of jet black cloth.

Halok’s arms went limp before they could cast any spell, sagging to his sides while his expression became still and stunned. Nogork had stepped past him in his cutting motion, leaving the warlock to crumple and fall to the ground behind him, cut clean in two from hip to hip with a pool of dark crimson liquid creeping across the floor to mark his defeat.

While the fel Orc guards scrambled into actions like statues become juggernauts, a low hushed voice spoke beneath the hood of the assailant.

“The Wolf is among the sheep…”

Zachang despised the bird men, the constant squawking and fussing with their clawed feathery hands could drive an Orc insane. Thank the dark masters the irritating beast had finished pouring the tea and shuffled away from the table, back to his make shift bar without a single chirp or aggravated squeak. This place had its uses; Shattrath was indeed neutral, but only to those who followed the light. Out here, in the back woods of Terrokar, the shanty tavern proved handy for dealings that the Sha’tar would frown upon.

Lifting the cup and its steaming contents with his right hand, Zachang regarded his task for a moment. Often enough he would sit in the same seat, eyeing over potential new recruits for the conclave. It was a thankless job, but one of the few ways to earn favour with his superiors and elevate himself to a higher circle. Oh the agony of being in the second circle.

The warlock sipped from his cup once, resisting the urge to spit out the miserable excuse for tea that the Arrakoa had brought them. With a furrowed brow he moved his eyes from the cup, to the hopeful recruit opposite him. His youth was far gone, marked by the lengthy grey beard descending from his jaw line;all the young ones were either on the other side of the dark portal or already in service to his masters. Aside from that a dirty brown robe and hood hid most of his features save the green skin of his lower face and hands. It was all a stark contrast to the rich jet black robes Zachang brushed fondly with his dark green hand. Appearance was everything; he had to look the part of some powerful fel user, even if he was only just above the novice acolytes the stronghold he worked from trained.

“So what use are you then old one?” the warlock spouted, almost aloof, hoping to impose and impress upon the newcomer his authority and importance.

The elderly Orc licked his lips and broken tusk, rubbing his hands together slowly. After an irritating pause he spoke.

“I am good at finding things, yes. Looking and finding, then reporting! Yes, reporting what I find. You won’t regret taking me in, I can do many helpful things! You will take us to the others so I may learn yes?” babbled the seemingly part senile elder. His voice was coarse from age, worn even.

Zachang narrowed an eye. He didn’t like useless ones, especially those gone mad from living in the wastes. At best this one could have a use as he said, at worst he would last a week in the slave pits. It really didn’t matter as long as it improved ‘productivity’.

“I imagine that may be of some use, somewhere” spoke the warlock, looking into his half empty cup with an expression of boredom. His eyes drifted to the elders fidgeting hands. Scarred curiously enough, and worn. Perhaps he’s known hard work years back; perhaps he’d last longer than a week in the pits.The Stronghold in Shadowmoon had become like a factory, taking in raw recruits and warping them with demon blood into red skinned juggernauts or teaching them the dark arts of the warlock.

“You won’t regret it! Oh no. how do we get to the others master? They are in hidden place yes? Could never find them when I look!” babbled the elder once again, his hunched back shifting and tightening as if under a hidden stress.

Zachang sighed, placing the cup on the table with a clang. Simpletons were so easy to control, show them some promise of reward but maintain your visage of superiority. No more than large imps, that’s all they are.

“Oh they are easy to find, I’m surprised you couldn’t. But that is not the trick at all. Its getting into the strongholds that’s hard” retorted the warlock as he slouched back into his chair.

“And how, how do you get in?” asked the elder hesitating, both his hands coming to rest beneath the table and onto what would likely be his knee’s.
The warlock grinned with amusement. Perhaps he would divulge the answer as a sign of his own intelligence rather than that of the mistress crone. It was only right he exalted in some praise after putting up with fools as this, the Mistress or her lieutenants would never know.

Zachang slipped a hand into the folds of his black robe, extracting a dark green gem, its middle a storm of swirling black mist.

“The felsteel Gates will not open unless you tap this upon them twice, such is my ingenuity” laughed the warlock, it was a lie but he did so love basking in the awe of others.

The elder tilted his hooded head to one side, not a hint of adoration on his stone still face.

“That orb?” the grey haired elder spoke, his tone changed from jabbering insanity to a firm earthy rasp.

Zachang nodded his assurance, a broad grin reaching from one side of dark green face to the other.

“Yes, it keeps us safe from the unworthy and foolish! Now about your skillsâ€"“ the warlock was cut short mid sentence as what seemed to be several things happening at once, the elders right arm making one split second movement.

First a glint of shining metal flashed past the warlocks face in a blaze of speed he had barely the chance to comprehend or acknowledge.
Second, a massive chunk from the table’s wooden corner flew from the main body, cut clean in two by the passage of some unseen edge.

Lastly, Zachang’s neck burned furiously. A red vapor appeared before his eyes, a spraying mist covering the table while his viewpoint changed without him willing it. First he was looking down at the crimson stained table, and then was looking up at it from below with his headless body crumpled over, spewing blood like a fountain. He watched as if an outsider, the Elder Orc leaning over the table to pick up the key-gem, a Curved sword in his right hand.

Then there was only the descending veil of darkness.

[Disarm macro]

it is what it is!

Disarm macro - use this when in battle or zerker stance to switch to defensive and Disarm your foe, press it twice!

#showtooltip Disarm
/cast [stance:2] Disarm; [stance:1/3] Defensive Stance

spell reflect use this to pop your sword and shield and use spell reflect - put the name of your sword and shield in.


#showtooltip Spell Reflection
/cast [stance:1/2,equipped:Shields] Spell Reflection; [stance:3] Defensive Stance
/stopmacro [equipped: Shields]
/stopcasting
/equip Vicious Gladiator's Slicer
/equip Vicious Gladiator's Shield Wall

defensive shield wall - use this when going to use shield wall for survival

#showtooltip Shield Wall
/cast [stance:2,equipped:shields] Shield Wall; [stance:1/3] Defensive Stance
/stopmacro [equipped:shields]
/equip Buzz Saw
/equip Vicious Gladiator's Shield Wall

[Marogg Stonefist.]

Within the tent of our chieftian resides an array of weapons. These trophy's symbolise the revered fallen, those who made the ultimate sacrafice in the name of out tribe, our race and our horde, long may they be remembered.

Marogg Stonefist.

This Clenched fist is fashioned of pure stone, baring the marks of many battles and hardships. Though its wielder may have been handi-crpped by having only one hand, he was resourceful and resilient in his efforts, cunning and courageous in the use of his tools. long may he who fell in fell in the western plaguelands be remember. Aged he may have been, but his mind forever agile, and swift.

Gnash Stronghand (the senior).

Brave Stronghand fell in battle against an ettin in the twilight highlands, his courage ensured the survival of a wounded shaman and the tribe as a whole as they rescued their kidnapped sister. Felled by mighty blows, the axe he left behind is a cosntant reminder that courage despite past grievances and sorrow will overcome all odds, and boudnary's. Rest well brave brother.

Regorn Thunderheart.

The staff of the redeemer remains a reminder to our tribe of times when our race as a whole revered the spirits in a time long gone. those the old days may have passed, Regorn honoured the old ways all the same, standing up for them against other view points and darker perceptions. His staff remains with us, a tool of healing for our High Blade Thur'ruk. May Regorn smile on us with pride as he see's the woudned tended well by that which he left behind. He knew his time well, and went to it as the Ancestors and spirits bid it, we shall miss you brother.

[Fresh and ungeared (Crafted gear)]

Good morning/Afternoon/evening orcs and subordinate lesser horde races.

I'm writing this quick Guide to gearing for pvp for a coupele of reasons. firstly is to set aside and displace the confusion that often seems to surround the subject, and the second is related to Rated Battlegrounds of which i will discuss later. i wil lset this post up into stages of gearing to make it simpler, please feel compelled to post any criticism or points to add.

Fresh and ungeared (Crafted gear)

So you just hit 85, your in half blue, half green levelling gear, and you want to be the next arena champion or High warlord. well, we can help! at this stage of the game you wont have any pvp gear as you have yet to step into a Battleground or arena.

as we know, the special thing about PvP gear is Resilience, that all wonderful stat. now, fear not, you can start yourself off on the road without yet setting foot in a single BG. Crafters (Blacksminths, leatherworkers, tailors and jewelcrafters) Can make all your basic blue quality pvp gear.... and more importantly, these stuff they make gets upgraded with every new pvp season to boot! it could be easy enough running down to the AH to buy it all, but that can be extremely expensive, so i advise tlaking to guild crafters... with some politeness they -should- craft the items you need if you simply provide the materials, which 90% of the time works out far far cheaper.

the second thing you want to consider is spec. Everyone is entitled to play the game how they want, and how they feel comofrtable doing so. its your subscription and fun time, afterall. just bare in mind that some specs may pove more useful/helpful/easy to play in a Battlegrounds and arena than others. what i'm hinting at is, with classes like shaman, or other hybrid classess: once you start down a path with a paticular set of gear (for healing) it will be tiring and hard to switch to a new set. so unless you want to work toward two gear sets, pick your pvp spec carefully!

oh, and check your glyph's carefully, make sure they are fit for purpose, or just simply how you like them!

Battlegrounds Grind (honour gear)

Now this is the long and often dull part. unless you happen to have an Alterac valley weekend close at hand, this can be a slow drag.

At this stage your after the most up to date honour bought PvP gear, bought from vendors in the Hall of legends (valley of strength) in orgrimmar. you will also be wantng to start gemming and enchanting the gear you get at this stage, as to give you an extra edge. Ebonsteel belt buckles, and pvp bought shoulder/helm resilience enchants are a must for those added stats.

also take the time to look into reforging some items. some pieces of gear may have an excess in a stat your not paticullarly interested in, use the chance to swap it some for a stat you do want. maybe spell damage for healing, or perhaps that extra resilience, or as i do... that extra bit of Mastery.

at present it should also be noted, that you need to aquire a total amount of honour this season, to buy paticular weapons, so dont panic about them too soon, store it away if need be.

Stepping into the competition (Conquest points gear)

the next stage of Gearing is where the challenge of PvP truelly is. its no longer a case of mindlessly grinding, your opponents are more likely to be smart, co-ordinated, organised and very well geared. Conquest points are used to buy top end pvp gear, the best of the best. you can gain 1650 of these points each week by either winning arena games (180 per win) or Rated battlegrounds (i believe its 450 per win). now you cant fill your entire cap by doing one option alone, so heres my suggestions...

Get yourself an Arena team, a 2 Vs 2 preferably, and with a guild member if you can (its great for guild rep, 740 points per win). remember you can have up to 4 members in a team like this and you can help your friends by playing games even if your already capped. the objective here is gaining wins to get points, Rating at this stage is not important.

Even if its five losses to one win, points are points and help you work toward that gear, so take it where you can, hammer through thoe games with your partner, reach the cap, and profit. though with conquest points do try and carefully plan your upgrades. once again you will have to gem/enchant/reforge your new pieces.

I wont suggest organising RBG's to get the last few points, instead i'd say get valor points from heroics and -buy- the conquest points to fill your cap.

Best of the Best (rating gear)

now this is the tough stuff. to get this gear from this vendor you need either 2200 rating with Battlegrounds, or 2200 rating with a 3 man or 5 man team in arena. this is NOT easy.

probably the best way to do this is with Rated battlegrounds, and takes immense dedication, hard work and effort. Morgeth currently runs some guild members through this, becuase they have top end gear, and have no other avenue of aquiring better items (or the pvp mount). my suggestion is to not join her RBG team unless you in paticular are on this road, otherwise your wasting spots when you could just go do simple 2 Vs 2's. The requirements for these teams even beyond the guild are often strict, having possibly achievement requirements, rating needs, gear level requirements and more. its not easy to get the wins, so the bar is set high for a reason.

Arena is still an option, but this requires strong team work, the very best gear, and most importanty... a dam good setup to pull it off.

in respects to the gear rewards, only the weapons are in fact an upgrade from conquest point gear. the armour is merely an aesthetic ego boost, the reward for reaching the higher rating is the slighty stronger weapons.

Well thats the quick crash course in the road to getting yourself pvp geared, once again feel free to post any comments, questions or criticsm.

[**The Following is printed upon parchment pinned within a roll of thick black wolf hide, these messages are nailed to most billboards now situated throughout the horde capital city's and is visible to all, the print is block, well presented and flows in numerous languages**]

**The Following is printed upon parchment pinned within a roll of thick black wolf hide, these messages are nailed to most billboards now situated throughout the horde capital city's and is visible to all, the print is block, well presented and flows in numerous languages**

Lok'tar denzies of the horde! on the ninth horn past mid-day on the 19th day of the twelth month, the annual festival of the Wolf will take place outside the tent of the high cheiftain in Thunderbluff. A Celebration of unity, pack mentallity and the vibrant spirit of our peoples in the winter month's is open to all, be they orc's, Tauren, Trolls, Forsaken, sindorei or goblins

Music from the great drums, a grand feast for all, mead until you collapse, games to revel in, dancing, the great ritual and a competition for the best Wolf costume will be among the events!

For the Horde!

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This year's Festival of the wolf will be taking place in thudner bluff, at 21:00 server time on saturday the 19th of december, all members of the horde are welcome, games, dancing, a ritual and good rp are on the agenda. theres even going to be a prize for the Best Wolf costume!

whats more i'm also seeking individuals for assistance in the event, namely people up for being part of the Horde'esque band, using any instruments they can come up with, and a lead singer... perhaps.

i wil lalso be needing a chef, and someone to serve drinks! apply in game with a whisper!

Lok'tar ogar!

[In Service - chapter 1]

((as becuase i will be taking a break for work purposes, i decided to write up a story to coincide with my departure and return, for now folks you can have the starting chapter, and the rest when i get back in eight weeks! i've also added some backing music to match the scene, so do click the links for youtube as they come up!))

In Service - chapter 1

(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPCiqXcZeE0&feature=related ))

Jingo gripped the blankets closer, hugging them desperatly for some sort of warmth, some sort of shield against the searching fingers of the cold. his hands ached with frostbite, his ear's burned with the howling winds, the Sea was cruel to the Young Troll's senses.

Opening his tightly clenched eye-lids, he poked his head around the fur's and blankets, Surveying the scene beyond. he himself sat huddled in a ball between two bound barrels, the stairs from the main deck to the upper deck of the corsair shielding his front. If it wasnt for the slit's between the steps he would of been protected from the bitter salt wind's of the ocean storm. the deck was bare, most the crew of the vessel had retreated below deck to begin ceaselly rowing in earnest, or tied themselves to the mast for safety. All the while the captain clung and fought with the wheel above, the stubborn Blood elf refusing to let his vessel spin out of control.

The occasional lightning strike to starboard illuminated the darkness beyond the vessel's decks. vast rising waves, sinking and rising with ferocious force, many crashing into and over the corsair's hull. The storm had come from the far south of kalimdor and caught them in its rush north, some hundred miles east of tanaris.

They'd already lost one Kor'kron grunt who had misplaced his footing to a giant wave, swept into the Raging ocean without a hope. Jingo was adamant he would not go down the same path, and would remain safely tucked away in this little corner, Safe knowing he'd tied his foot to the base of the ladders.
The Lightning, despite the troll being a shaman, brought a shudder to his tanned green skin, but nothing compared to the rolling noise of Thunder. The rolling Beat of drums across the sky made his heart skip a beat. He'd always been afraid of storms.

Jingo shuddered, scrunching his eyes together a moment to clear his vision, peering out again over the deck, searching for the companion he'd 'Aquired' during the expedition, if somewhat reluctantly. All it took was the illumination From the next lightning strike to allow him to spot the Renegade who had tormented the Korkron commander.

The flash of light faded, but the shape of the orc was still visible, his muscular shoulders and arms fixed into grips while his body faced north, out to sea. His left hand gripped upward, holding tight the lower rope from the Headsail, while his right hand hung loose at his side holding an ancient war-blade.

Jingo licked his lips, tasting the bitter salted skin as he adjusted his gaze. The blademasters behaviour had always been odd, especially stood at the very forward end of the vessel, meeting the storm head on no less. His way's were insane, no doubt.

"out o'ya mind old Wolf orc... out'a ya mind..."

(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DrkguvGFnrE&feature=related ))

The Bow of the ship suddenly rose, Jingo felt his body move backward with gravity as the forward end aimed upward... then came crashing down. A giant of a wave crashing across the bow, straight through where the Blademaster had stood. it Took a good minute before the corsair righted itself to the usual rough rythem of the smaller waves. Oar's had stopped moving during the dive, only to be restarted...

"Heave! Heave! Heave!" came the cry from below decks, a cruel dark voice echoed.

It Could also be said the Troll was Relieved that the Old Orc hadnt been swept away, his solid grip ensuring he hadnt moved an inch from his watch point. The old wolf, as jingo had come to call him, was dripping no less from the constant crashing waves and driving rain, though he stood bare chested and wore only a pair of leather pants with side plates and sandalds for his feet. His body was a maze of scar's, and hair a long braided length, much like his beard.

Jingo followed the Gaze of the orc north, to a small spec of gold and the visage of aprting clouds far off on the horizon. Krogon had fought relentlessly through this expedition with only a cold exterior and calculative mind for company. Atleast now he showed he had his eyes on tommorow, and the Return home. they had story's to tell.

The Sun in Silithus had been cruel, and the time away long, but The Wolf was Sailing back to his pack... a Storm at his back.

i have, as you may of realised by now. left the red blades.

this isnt becuase of any of you, oh no. you guys are the greatest, most skull crushingly awesome green muscled power houses of cool i ever met. and i love ya.

its just that Horde side doesnt really... fit? i cant get into it properply.

so my immediate apologies for any problems i may have caused in doing  this. again, not your fault! you orcsies rock.

im currently playing a rogue alliance side, so erm...

bye :<