Name: Gorr “Brighteye†Grimwolf (In-Game: Gorrulk)
Level: 120
Roleplaying Experience:
I've been roleplaying now in one form or other for like, 15 years. Started off on a Lord of the Rings forum, and since then done various MMO's, tabletop, spent about a year doing LARP, you name it I've probably attempted it (within reason...). A few years back, before taking an extended break from WoW roleplay, I was a member of this here fine guild over on Defias. Most recently I've been part of a year long D&D campaign set in Azeroth, playing as Gorr. But the new(ish) expansion dragged me back, and with all the changes in real life over the past few years, I'm finally at a place where I have the time to dedicate to WoW RP again.
And finally, please write a short story and/or (IC) introduction about your character:
(Sorry for the poor formatting/wording. This is a badly transcribed version of the events of Gorr retiring from our TT campaign.)
"For the three weeks, we had been waiting on an alliance supply caravan that was reported t' be carrying Azerite weapons to the frontlines, wherever they was. Nothing new, we'd been raiding these things ever since they started shipping 'em."
The old Orc swigs off the last of his drink and waves his empty mug at the bartender.
"This one though, this one never seemed right. No word on what sort of troops t' expect, only a rough idea of what path they would be taking... Needless t' say, it felt dodgy."
Taking his refilled drink, the Orc lifts his hood slightly, revealing a fresh cut running down from his scalp along his face.
"We were set up t' fail. Easily three of 'em for every one of us - it really was glorious! Rek raised 'em back as they fell, Kagh was like an elemental unleashed..."
He laughs, and wipes his palm against his left eye absentmindedly, lost in the moment for a second. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, the Orc pulls out several small, metal Insignia, and drops them infront of him on the bar.
"None of 'em made it, not a damned one. Not even the grukkin' Death Knight! And I know they died well, but.. They were all I had. That, and this swill!"
He slams his drink down on the bar, scattering the metal disks across the floor. With a sigh, he turns to look at the Orc sat beside him.
"I can't do it any more, Murse. I jus'can't. I need t' belong to somethin' again. And this ain't it.â€
Level: 120
Roleplaying Experience:
I've been roleplaying now in one form or other for like, 15 years. Started off on a Lord of the Rings forum, and since then done various MMO's, tabletop, spent about a year doing LARP, you name it I've probably attempted it (within reason...). A few years back, before taking an extended break from WoW roleplay, I was a member of this here fine guild over on Defias. Most recently I've been part of a year long D&D campaign set in Azeroth, playing as Gorr. But the new(ish) expansion dragged me back, and with all the changes in real life over the past few years, I'm finally at a place where I have the time to dedicate to WoW RP again.
And finally, please write a short story and/or (IC) introduction about your character:
(Sorry for the poor formatting/wording. This is a badly transcribed version of the events of Gorr retiring from our TT campaign.)
"For the three weeks, we had been waiting on an alliance supply caravan that was reported t' be carrying Azerite weapons to the frontlines, wherever they was. Nothing new, we'd been raiding these things ever since they started shipping 'em."
The old Orc swigs off the last of his drink and waves his empty mug at the bartender.
"This one though, this one never seemed right. No word on what sort of troops t' expect, only a rough idea of what path they would be taking... Needless t' say, it felt dodgy."
Taking his refilled drink, the Orc lifts his hood slightly, revealing a fresh cut running down from his scalp along his face.
"We were set up t' fail. Easily three of 'em for every one of us - it really was glorious! Rek raised 'em back as they fell, Kagh was like an elemental unleashed..."
He laughs, and wipes his palm against his left eye absentmindedly, lost in the moment for a second. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, the Orc pulls out several small, metal Insignia, and drops them infront of him on the bar.
"None of 'em made it, not a damned one. Not even the grukkin' Death Knight! And I know they died well, but.. They were all I had. That, and this swill!"
He slams his drink down on the bar, scattering the metal disks across the floor. With a sigh, he turns to look at the Orc sat beside him.
"I can't do it any more, Murse. I jus'can't. I need t' belong to somethin' again. And this ain't it.â€
That wus about someone else, which ticked Grim offa little. He's simple when he's drinking, makes him moody. And the moodiness leads to drinking. Its a cheerful circle.
<< Apology kiss-smiley!))
