Topics

[Smoke in Ourr Eyes!]

Smoke in Ourr Eyes!

Objective:
'Tis simple! We take this fish I caught 'n we smoke it! Fer this, we'll be needin' waterr, a tent, wood splinterrs, 'n a firre, 'course.

Rewards:
2 Fangs perr orrc, 'n a bunch o' smoked fish!.

Additional notes:
Th' tent can be rreplaced with anythin' that trrap th' smoke. Furrs hung o'er a wooden rrack worrk, too!
Seas be calm fer ye!



Status:
Incomplete

[Report]

Report

Present:

• Drrokum Cod
• Garoirah Gary Skullchuckle Skullsnicker? Skulllaughterr? *Angry scribblings* Skullcackle

Additional notes:
We handsomely caught ourrselves a boarr, a gazzelley 'n a plainstriderr. We also shot some zhevrra, but let the hounds have that'on.



Status:
Completed

Hi!

Right, so... Rak'mal Ironskull died tonight. I decided to kill him off for two reasons:

1) On the 24th of June, I'll be going into military school, the Intelligence branch of the Norwegian Defense Force (Forsvarets etterretningshøgskole). After that, if I get in, it's unlikely that I'll be back for as long as three years. Even if I don't get in, I have bootcamp at the end of the summer, which lasts a year.
2) I've been planning to make a Paladin knight order guild on the Alliance with some old friends from my early days of RP. We'll probably found it this week or the next. I'll become an officer in that guild, so that's going to suck up a lot of time.

I regret this already. I'm stupid. Like Rak, I'm stupid. But like Rak, the option of going on a mindquest or a journey around the world is simply too convenient. Rak's character would never leave the tribe for long, not even to search for his destiny. Rak is a grunt through and through, so a vision would probably scare him more than lead him, and the thought of just leaving to see the world doesn't really appeal to someone who guarded the streets of Orgrimmar for twenty years. So those weren't really options for excuses that could be used to describe Rak's absence. He isn't one for magic, either, so getting ported away by a hand from a portal isn't an option either. He was a beefcake made of 100% beef, and beef doesn't move much, unless it moves to the next life.

To summarise, I am possibly one of the stupidest people in the world for killing off my orc in this amazing, fantastic, indescribably incredible guild. The fact that I still have a whole month before my entrance exam makes it even worse. Pretty sure I'll hate myself for this, but my illogical and retarded brain has concluded that now that the opportunity to kill Rak presented itself, it was the most logical reason for an extended absence. I know, weird that I'm talking about logic, right?

So yeah. Don't miss his funeral on Thursday. I know I'll be bawling like I did at the end of Saving Private Ryan.

Sincerely,
Tarjei, Rak'mal Ironskull.

[The Great Fixin' Day]

The Great Fixin' Day

Objective:
We're back in Durotar, orcs! It's been a cold couple of weeks and no doubt the ice and warring have beaten our armour and weapons bad. I, Rak'mal, suggest we spend a day to repair and reforge what needs a fixing.

Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc and repaired gear.

Additional notes:
IC: *Written underneath the objective, spanning an additional sheet of parchment* This will not be a day for smiths and leatherworkers alone. We'll need capable hands to carry supplies, gather new ones and cook for the workers. Help of any kind is welcome!

OOC: A fun day for orcs to work together to repair our stuff! Doesn't really require any DMing unless someone is hunting, but feel free to be creative! You never know, one could DM some hardcore leatherworking to maximise efficiency!  



Status:
Incomplete

[Come On and Slam... The Pick into the Rock!]

Come On and Slam... The Pick into the Rock!

Objective:
It's that time again. Whenever the tribe leaves for an exotic place, Rak'mal must have his exotic ore! When time allows it, Rak'mal wants to take a few orcs to go out into the icy lands of Northrend and mine some cobalt. He wants at least 12 clumps of the stuff!

Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc.

Additional notes:
OOC: I'll DM this. Give me a poke in game!



Status:
Incomplete

[Got Milk?]

Got Milk?

Objective:
Talbuk milk is said to be most delicious, maybe the best in the Outlands. However, the good orcs of Garadar got uncomfortable when Rak'mal stomped over and asked to milk their talbuks. As such, Rak'mal wants a group of willing orcs to travel into the wilds, find a wild talbuk female and milk it.

Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc and a tankard of milk.

Additional notes:
Feel free to DM this yourselves! Gotta have a hunt, but don't kill the prey! Try to only pacify it.



Status:
Incomplete

[Name:]

Name: Rak'mal Ironskull
Alias: Rak, Metalface
Rank: Oathbound of the Nag'Ogar

Age: 44
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Clan: Blackrock (MU)
Class: Warrior
Alignment: Chaotic Good

Family: Torkmol No-Tooth (father, deceased), Crukka Bonebreaker (mother, deceased), Sorken Sootface (brother, deceased).
Known Friends: Mazhga, Rashka, Groshnok, Nosh'marak.
Known Enemies: None.

Appearance:
Rak'mal is a short, yet very muscular orc, boasting powerful, but stunted, arms and legs. He looks to be of middle-age, his face showing some evidence of wrinkles and his eyes look worn and aging. However, his back rarely keels over from his aging. He still has the posture of his youth, though he doesn't stretch very high even when his back is straight. His skin is dark green like old swampwater. His nose is bulky, probably broken several times, and his jaw is large and is missing tusks. When Rak'mal grins, many of the tusks also appear to be either miscoloured or rotten.

His face is beaten and torn from a life of war, with a large scar across his right brow that reached down to his cheek. A fresh scar across his right cheek has been added recently, judging by its colour.

Rak'mal's right bicep has a tattoo of Blackrock Mountain on it. He likes to say that she erupts when he flexes.

The left hemisphere of his skull is covered with metal plates that cover its surface to the ear and the forehead. It reaches roughly from the beginning of his neck and stretches all the way to his brow, which means his left eye is constantly in the shade of the metal patch job.
Rak'mal wields a large, black hammer. The hammerhead is forged in dark iron looted during the Blackrock attack on Blackrock Mountain. It has a few cracks and bulks and signs of chipping. Rak'mal's armour is in contrast quite well maintained. Apart from a few bulks and scratches here and there, the plates that make up Rak'mal's protection wear look shiny and far from in disrepair. No doubt this is his own work.

Personality:
Rak'mal Ironskull is a generally kind orc. He is open to strangers, happy to introduce himself and talk to anyone who shows signs for friendliness. In addition, Rak'mal is most motivated to work, often spending whole days working the forges or doing building maintainance in Orgrimmar with the peons. He gets restless when he doesn't work, unless he has been given a break or there is a party.

Rak'mal has a massive temper, however. When fighting, Rak'mal always charges in recklessly, and is often seen attacking the corpses of the enemy after they've been slain to vent the remaining bloodlust. He prefers to resolve conflict with his fists, being too stupid to converse for longer periods. Yes, he is far from the sharpest axe on the weapon rack, and tends to shy away from advanced topics or political discussions.

History:
Rak'mal was born to Torkmol No-Tooth and Crukka Bonebreaker of the Blackrock Clan in the year -7. Like many other orcs born at this time, he grew up on the warpath, learning the harsh, barbaric ways of the blood-hungering orcs first hand. He grew up with the invasion of Azeroth, slaughtering Alliance as he aged.

After the Second War was lost, the sixteen year old Rak'mal's bloodlust ended with the imprisonment of him and his comrades in labour camps. He had been separated from the other Blackrock orcs during the battles, and did not have a chance to reunite with Rend's warriors. In the camps, he waited for twelve years with his friends, all of them weakening from hunger and insatiable thirst for battle. It was in the twelweth year that Thrall's New Horde came and gave Rak'mal a new purpose: With his reignited passion for murder, he was to destroy any threat to Thrall's New Horde.

Because of that vow, Rak'mal found himself drawn to the brutish ways of Grom Hellscream, rather than Thrall's diplomatic approaches. It was merely by chance that he did not go to Ashenvale with the Warsong, for he was assigned to Thrall's forces. When Rak'mal received orders to slay his bloodcrazed, former brethren, he reluctantly agreed, but made an effort to not mortally wound them. Regardless of whether they were possessed by demonic rage, Rak'mal felt pain slaying the Warsong he had respected above all. He learned there that his mindset had been wrong, and that the reckless thirst for blood had led his brethren to attack him.

In the years following the end of the Third War, Rak'mal worked as a labourer with the construction of Orgrimmar. Once the great city was built, he took up work as a grunt. However, when the Dark Portal opened once more, he could not stand to sit by and watch. He worked as a grunt in Thrallmar throughout the bulk of the campaign. One day, an infernal assault rained down over the area where Rak'mal was posted. One of them crashed into the ground close to him and Rak'mal was sent flying into the pilasade wall, fracturing his skull. He had it stitched together using metal plates and was dubbed "Ironskull" as a joke by his comrades. However, when the skirmish to Northrend was at its peak, that very metal stitching saved Rak'mal's head from being pierced by a Scourge arrow. Thus, he took his nickname to be his surname.

In both the Cataclysm and during the events of Pandaria, Rak'mal served in the Kor'kron. He had been inspired by Garrosh's leadership and strength throughout the conquests in Northrend. Forgetting all about his thoughts from the Third War, he even took Garrosh's side up until Garrosh started tampering with the magic of the Sha. Rak'mal remembered his demonic brethren and deserted during the Siege of Orgrimmar. He was imprisoned by the attacking forces, but treated kindly compared to what Garrosh would have done with his own prisoners. After the Siege was over, Rak'mal was released and had a period of contemplation.

After a long time of thinking and seeking advice while working as a labourer, he decided that he would go to Draenor and fight. However, he would no longer fight to sate his bloodlust: He would search for someone who could teach him what "honour" is. However, as time has passed, Rak'mal has realised that honour isn't necessarily one code. Like so many of the orcs said to him in the beginning of his membership in the tribe, honour must be realised by the orc, rather than be forced upon the orc. He has begun to understand that now and has taken up armoursmithing as a way to be of more use to the tribe that helped him understand.

Death:

Spoiler: show

During the Tribe's journey into the wild, untamed crater of Un'goro, the orcs came upon a vicious, mighty Silithid colossus. In the heat of the encounter, Rak'mal's armour was destroyed by a wave of acid, leaving the orc vulnerable. Tired and wounded from earlier attacks, Rak'mal was eventually caught off guard and crushed against the wall by the rampaging beast. With no armour to dampen the blow, Rak'mal's spine snapped and the orc fell to the ground, bloody and burnt. The Tribe's healers tried their hardest, but the orc's body was too broken to be saved.

Rak'mal's body burned to ashes on the pyres two nights after his death.

Things you may know about this character:
- Rak'mal is close to deaf on his left ear. Some say it is because the explosion from the infernal crash blew his eardrum apart and it hasn't healed since.
- Rak'mal hates dwarves. Partially because of the conflicts in Blackrock, but mostly because he's insecure about whether they make better crafters than him.
- Rak'mal loves to drum. He has ever since he first saw the great wardrummers on kodo back. His love for blunt weapons may also play a part.
- Rak'mal loves to eat mouldy bread and rotten meat. The nostalgic taste reminds him of the food he grew up with.
- Rak'mal is terrible at sharpening weapons. It's however unknown whether this is because or the reason why he prefers blunt weapons.

Things you may not know about this character:
- Rak'mal is allergic to peanuts.
- Rak'mal murdered several trolls while serving the Kor'kron. This weighs heavily on him when he talks to trolls today.
- Despite his warname, Rak'mal's skull is not actually coated in iron. To avoid too much rusting, the Goblin that engineered the patchjob added chrome to the mix, creating a primitive form of rustfree steel. It is, however, not completely rustfree and Rak'mal often struggles with rust falling into his left eye.
- Rak'mal much prefers to take orders rather than give them. He's been a labourer and a grunt for most of his life, so he feels he doesn't have the necessary qualities to lead.

[Rocks of the (Un)familiar Kind]

Rocks of the (Un)familiar Kind

Objective:
Rak'mal intends to bring a group of orcs out along the Nagrand mountains to find spots of adamantium, a metal Rak'mal has heard is present there. Rak'mal hopes to find at least 10 clumps of ore.

Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc.

Additional notes:
OOC: Probably doing this before Saturday is over.



Status:
Incomplete

[Do it, ore else!]

Do it, ore else!

Objective:
Rak'mal has decided that the tribe's current stock of iron is too low! With the Horde's resources already stretched with the constant campaigns in Draenor, Rak'mal suggests taking a few brave orcs out to Stonetalon to mine in an abandoned Alliance mine.


Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc.

Additional notes:
IC: A small note is pinned to this one. It simply reads, "Bring pack kodos."
OOC: A miney mission into the wartorn Stonetalon Mountains. Feel free to DM encounters with Alliance scouts/Kobolds during the stay in the mines.



Status:
Incomplete

[Work Order: Repair... For the Horde! [COMPLETED]]

Work Order: Repair... For the Horde! [COMPLETED]

Objective:
Rak'mal Ironskull has received an assignment to do maintainance on the guard tower at the road intersection where the road between Ashenvale and the Crossroads also splits off towards Orgrimmar. He had planned to bring a few peons along, but his taskmaster couldn't afford to issue him any. Therefore, Rak'mal asks any willing orcs for assistance.

Rewards:
2 Fangs per orc plus a share of the payment for honest work.

Additional notes:
IC: The actual work order is pinned to this notice. It promises a salary of five gold coins for the workers to share in between them. Exchanging the coins into silver can also be done when this order is turned in.




Status:
Complete.

Rak'mal wiped some sweat from his forehead. It accumulated so fast underneath the old, rusty iron plates that covered the left hemisphere of his head. He inspected the back of his dark green hand. It shone like he had dipped it in oil and held it next to a candle. The evening sun baked over Orgrimmar, and even though he was inside, he could still feel its vicious heat. Just a bit longer, he though to himself. He was hammering nails into the new wooden boards in a quick, steady rhythm. The taskmaster had come by an hour or so earlier and seemed pleased with Rak'mal's work so far. The rot in the floorboards in the Orgrimmar barracks in the Valley of Honour had been completely removed. All that remained was to fill in the holes that had once housed the dank, mouldy planks with fresh, dry woodboards.

There! All finished. Rak'mal got to his feet and rolled his right shoulder. After working ceaselessly for a number of hours he simply hadn't counted, Rak'mal could finally take a break. He drank the remaining droplets from his waterskin and rolled his tongue over his parched lips. The taskmasters could at least leave a waterbarrel. It's not like they pay me to die of thirst, he though to himself and started putting his tools back in his toolbox. Once he had packed up his hammer, saw and little box of recycled nails, he got to his feet and stomped down the stairs.

At the entrance, he was met by the taskmaster. Rak'mal thumbed over his shoulder, to the stairway, and said, "Aye, I fixed the floor, orc. I'll take my twenty silver."

The taskmaster nodded and went up the stairs to perform his usual inspection. Rak'mal had gotten used to this. The taskmaster had probably gotten a poor job done at some point back in the day, and had failed to trust anyone since. Understandable. Some stomping was heard from above. A few harder stomps. Some lighter steps. Finally, sound from the staircase.

"A job well done, orc. Give him his silver."

The taskmaster's assistant counted twenty silver and gave them to Rak'mal. The orcs nodded to each other and Rak'mal split from the group after saying his aka'magoshes.

Back at the inn, Rak'mal began packing up his equipment when he noticed the most outrageous of details: His legguards had had its leather torn and ripped! "How?!" Rak'mal thought to himself. Then he remembered the battle with the boar-faced shaman a few days ago during Mozrogg Doomhowl's inspection of the old quilboar settlements.

"The thorns..." Rak'mal muttered under his breath.

Well, this was no good! He could fit his whole hand through some of the rifts! A Blackrock orc could not be seen with such mangled armour! That would be a disgrace to his clan!

Rak'mal sat down on the hard bed and kept investigating the damages. The longer he inspected, the more rifts, ruptures, missing steel rings and broken plates he found. "This, I have to fix," he thought to himself. There was only one problem: Rak'mal may produce quality wooden boards, but the closest he has ever been to metalworking has been hammering out bent nails. He had to have someone fix it for him. Rak'mal packed up his belongings, pulled on some cloth britches, walked out the door and slammed it behind him. He left a few silver on Gravy's counter and stormed down to the forges.

When he entered the smithy, it was deserted. The forge was relatively cool, and the tools had been put back in their respective slots.

"Hello?!" Rak'mal exclaimed.

Nobody answered - but it was unlikely that anybody was hiding behind the anvils or workbenches, anyway. Rak'mal pondered whether he should come back later, but his curiousity got the better of him. He took his armour out of his bags and put on a pair of working gloves he found hanging on the wall. It was time to get to work.

Rak'mal left some silver on the workbench to pay for the leather. He grabbed a needle, some thread and leather scraps and started sewing. He found it difficult to sew with work gloves on, so he took them off. A thousand times, he stung his fingers. Had it not been for the thick skin of his fingers, they would be bleeding like speared, tiny, green piglets. He sat there for a long times, sewing ceaselessly in fear of being caught. Surprisingly, nobody came in for the entire period he was patching his leather. He finished his patchwork post-haste - albeit it looked most amateurish. Rak'mal only cared about the armour's non-existent leather rifts, and indeed, they no longer existed.

He swiftly moved over to the forge bellows and pumped them up and down like his life depended on it. The forge blazed up like Blackrock herself. The heat was worse than the evening sun, but he had to endure. Rak'mal left his remaining pay from the work assignment in the barracks on the workbench. He then grabbed some steel bars and tossed them into the forge. He then had a moment of realisation: If the bars melt away in the burning coals, how will he get them out? Rak'mal, without thinking, stuck his hands inside the forge. He roared when his hands were burned by the heat and ran over to the water bucket. He drowned his hands for a good four minutes before he heard a mighty voice roar at him.

"HEY! What do you think you're doing here, orc?!"

Rak'mal looked up with a fearful expression mixed with embarrassment and pain. In the door stood an old orcess. Her head was shaved, but her brows were grey and lightly singed. Her body was muscular and her expression was furious. Rak'mal pulled his hands out of the water, but the warm atmosphere of the forge burned his burnt hands, so he stuck them back in.

"I... I was just-... I was... Uh!"

Rak'mal struggled to find words between his slow thinking and his hands burning. The orcess sprinted over to the forge, grabbed a pair of tongs and pulled out the two steel bars, that now looked like some red-hot slime. She shook her head and glared at Rak'mal.

"I am calling the grunts," she spat at him.

"No! Wait-!" Rak'mal said, taking his hands out of the water again. They still felt like bacon over the fire, so he snarled and submerged them.

The orcess took a gander at the workbench where Rak'mal's leather legguards laid. Next to the mess of leather scraps, jumbled threads and bent needles, was a pile of silver.

"Is this yours, whelp?" she snapped. She picked up the silver and started counting.

"Dabu," Rak'mal answered, feeling terribly awkward squatting next to a bucket with his hands  wrist-deep in lukewarm water. "I didn't feel comfortable stealing materials. The least I could do was pay for anything I'd break."

The orcess finished counting and turned to face Rak'mal. She knelt down next to him and glared him straight into his amber eyes. She paused to look at Rak'mal's head and the patchwork that had been done on it, but then looked back at his face.

"Listen here, cub. When I saw the smoke rise from the forge pipes, I knew something wasn't right. All the other smiths are currently over in the Valley of Strength, so they wouldn't come back here to fire up the forge. I was certain some goblin vandals had come to sabotage competition, but instead..." She paused. She stood back up and jumbled the silver coins around in her palm.

"Instead, I find an ugly-ass orc who burnt his hands while playing with fire." She gestured over to the workbench where the leather pants were. "And that - while still being prettier than your face - is a shitty patchjob. Arguably the worst I've seen in all my years as armoursmith. My kids made better crap than that when they were still suckling my tits."

Rak'mal hung his head in shame. He lowered his shoulders in defeat and just waited for the grunts to come and pull him off to a dank cell. The orcess took a deep breath and sighed.

"But just because you're ugly, doesn't mean you're a bad orc."

Rak'mal looked up in joy and confusion.

"I appreciate the payment, whelp. Keep this silver coming, and I'll teach you how to make those leather pants even prettier than you. And as a bonus, I'll fix your armour and teach you to fix it yourself. Ain't every day a thief actually pays for what he's stealing." She smirked.

Rak'mal snickered to himself and shook his head.

"I'll see what I can do. Thank you. I am Rak'mal Ironskull."

"I am Trukka Anvilflame. Now get your dirty hands out of that water before it infects the next blade to be cooled down in it with stupidity."

Rak'mal sighed and nodded. He pulled his hands out of the water with a snarl and Trukka immediately wrapped them in clean, white linen.

"Now, come back when your hands have gotten better. Leave your armour with me for now."

She tossed him some simple weapons and armour.

"Wear this for now," she commanded.

Rak'mal nodded with a "zug-zug" and the two said their gug'yes before parting. Rak'mal walked down the streets of Orgrimmar that day feeling more embarrassed and happy than he had in a long time.

Name: Rak'mal Ironskull
Class: Protection Warrior.
Level: 100.

My role-playing experience:

Hello! I've been role-playing for roughly 6-7 years, mainly as Troll and Goblin characters. I started off on Darkmoon Faire in the Exodus Inquisition, and later moved to Argent Dawn to play in guilds like the Loa Atal Ai and the Zul Atal Alarion. I have also role-played as an Orc in the Ironblood Conquerors, though not for very long. Therefore, I am eager to keep learning.

A short character summary:

Rak'mal was born to the Blackrock Clan in the year -13. Like many other orcs born at this time, he grew up on the warpath, learning the harsh, barbaric ways of the blood-hungering orcs first hand. He often took part in the infighting among the orcish clans during his youth. When the Portal opened, Rak'mal had just entered his teens and had grown into a small, green beast, and would often make an effort to raid with his elders.

After the Second War was lost, the nineteen year old Rak'mal's bloodlust ended with the imprisonment of him and his comrades in labour camps. There, he waited for twelve years with his friends, all of them weakening from hunger and insatiable thirst for battle. It was in the twelweth year that Thrall's New Horde came and gave Rak'mal a new purpose: With his reignited passion for murder, he was to destroy any threat to Thrall's New Horde.

Because of that vow, Rak'mal found himself drawn to the brutish ways of Grom Hellscream, rather than Thrall's diplomatic approaches. It was merely by chance that he did not go to Ashenvale with the Warsong, for he was assigned to Thrall's forces. When Rak'mal received orders to slay his bloodcrazed, former brethren, he reluctantly agreed, but made an effort to not mortally wound them. Regardless of whether they were possessed by demonic rage, Rak'mal felt pain slaying the Warsong he had respected above all. He learned there that his mindset had been wrong, and that the reckless thirst for blood had led his brethren to attack him.

In the years following the end of the Third War, Rak'mal worked as a labourer with the construction of Orgrimmar. Once the great city was built, he took up work as a grunt. However, when the Dark Portal opened once more, he could not stand to sit by and watch. He fought in Outland, fracturing his skull in a battle with a fel guard. He had it stitched together using metal plates and was dubbed "Ironskull" as a joke by his comrades. However, when the skirmish to Northrend was at its peak, that very metal stitching saved Rak'mal's head from being pierced by a Scourge arrow. Thus, he took his nickname to be his surname.

In both the Cataclysm and during the events of Pandaria, Rak'mal wanted to join the Kor'kron. He had been inspired by Garrosh's leadership and strength throughout the conquests in Northrend. Forgetting all about his thoughts from the Third War, he even took Garrosh's side up until Garrosh started tampering with the magic of the Sha. Rak'mal remembered his demonic brethren and deserted during the Siege of Orgrimmar. He was imprisoned by the attacking forces, but treated kindly compared to what Garrosh would have done with his own prisoners. After the Siege was over, Rak'mal was released and had a period of contemplation.

After a long time of thinking and seeking advice while working as a labourer, he decided that he would go to Draenor and fight. However, he would no longer fight to sate his bloodlust: He would search for someone who could teach him what "honour" is.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alright! That's it! It would seem I do not understand the meaning of "short", but I hope you enjoyed the read! Great to have you on AD!
Have a nice day still!
- Rakmal.