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Did you ever hear the tragedy of Akesh the Poisoner? It's not a story the Red Blades would tell you. It's a Legion legend. A Legiond.

Akesh the Poisoner was a warlock of Clan Redblade, so powerful and so demonic that he could use fel blood to influence the orcs around him to create strife.

He had such a knowledge of the dark arts he could even keep the ones he hated most from living. And so he killed Grenth Stonebrow and delivered Clan Redblade into the Shadow Pact. The blood of demons are a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.

Yet he became so powerful, the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course he did. Unfortunately, he had made many enemies inside and outside the Clan, then he was slain in battle... by an orcish arrow. Ironic. He could bring others to death, but then died himself.

Is it possible to learn this power? Not from a Thur'ruk.

[Wisdumb of the Ancestors - 40 Sage Sayings of Sadok]

Wisdumb of the Ancestors - 40 Sage Sayings of Sadok

I. The Code of Honor was handed down to Reggar Redblade. He'd have objected, but Reggars can't be choosers.

II. War doesn't determine who's right. War determines who's left.

III. A blood bond brings two orcs closer together. Handcuffs bring them closer forever.

IV. Respect your elders, no matter how hard it may be. Don't worry, they'll die of old age soon.

V. Respect your betters. Respect yourself. You are the best.

VI. Respect your butters. They're a great source of nutrition.

VII. Some say that less is more. I disagree. More is by definition more.

VIII. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. But venturing is hard and I'm lazy.

IX. Always be prepared to back your words up. Unless you're a fast runner.

X. You know who says victory or death? Dead orcs.

XI. I'd give my blood willingly to the Horde but I'm allergic to pointy objects.

XII. Be careful lest dishonor fall upon you. Dishonor has put on weight, it's not a pleasant experience.

XIII. Demons are bad. Been there, done that. No touchy the demons.

XIV. Don't harm the young. Unless they had it coming.

XV. Once they come of age, beat the shit out of them. That'll teach them.

XVI. Lay the pelts of your enemies at the foot of your Chieftain. Unless they're bald, in which case back hair will do.

XVII. Witness me now, oh brothers and sisters. Witnesses are crucial for a good alibi.

XVIII. Use every part of a slain beast. Every. Part. I have a fetching scarf made out of wolf rectum.

XIX: Don't eat each other. It's weird and gross. I don't care how delicious they look, stop it.

XX: ''Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. As long as you porked them.

XXI. Path of Wisdom? Path of Strength? I prefer the Path of Conquest.

XXII. Wear Gul'dan's robes or a replica Garrosh pauldron. Whine every time someone comments on your lack of awareness.

XXIII. Fight your enemies to their very end. Punch them in the ass.

XXIV. Bigger is better. Carry a weapon so large you can barely use it in battle. Or why not two?

XXV. Akesh the Poisoner did nothing wrong. Except for the poison thing.

XXVI. Do not brandish your weapon idly. Keep that thing in its sheath, you pervert.

XXVII. Everyone has a wolf mask. Impress your peers, wear a draenei mask.

XXVIII. Don't think of it as exile. Think of it as an extended vacation until you die alone, unloved and unmourned.

XXIX. The fire tastes like burning.

XXX. Why are they called peons if you get in trouble for urinating on them?

XXXI.  Don't ask where the Packweavers went. Unless you want to join them.

XXXII. Be hospitable to your enemies. Send them to the hospital.

XXXIII. Keep your words soft and sweet, lest you have to later eat them. Cake is a good word.

XXXIV. It takes a lot of nails to build an orcling's crib, but just one screw to fill it.

XXXV. The Rite of Cleansing is reserved for warlocks, Death Knights and bad cases of body odor.

XXXVI. Respect your alliances. Except for that Alliance. You know the one I mean.

XXXVII. A good cuirass can make the difference between victory and defeat, life and death. But sometimes you just have to free the nipple.

XXXVIII. Orcs that live in glass houses mustn't stow thrones. Dressing in the basement is optional.

XXXIX. Do not commit a serious crime in the face of the spirits. Do it behind their back.

XL. The history of Clan Redblade is much like your den mother. As vast as it is old.

[ORDER OF THE RED BLADE]

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When the meteor hit, the ceiling exploded in pale green flame. The force and fire strained frame and charred wooden beams; the clay walls were crumbling, riven with cracks and fractures. The simple hut surely would have collapsed within moments if not for the Scepter of the Shaman King, hidden there for years until this moment of reckoning. When the walls held firm in defiance of logic, when the choking ashen smog turned to clear and breathable air, I was astonished until I saw the ancient weapon in my hands, my unbidden fingers tightening around it as if commanded by some greater power.

The Scepter was consecrated in another age by Mruthgor the Shaman-King, a feared Spirit-Walker of old who wrenched the Chiefdom of Clan Redblade by intrigue and menace. In life Mruthgor sought to traverse the bounds between the mortal realm and the Eternal Plains of the afterlife, and in death this ambition endured. Mruthgor had proven a meddler in the affairs of the tribe, with vainglorious demands for tribute or merely recognition -- that among the pantheon of ancestors he had not been forgotten.

His voice first called to me all those years ago to reclaim his Scepter, to wrest it from the hands of those who would pervert and corrupt its power. I saw his cult first hand in an arduous Vision Quest, from the terracotta votives burnt in his honor to the lengthy boasts etched proudly in alabaster -- "THE SHAMAN-KING WHO RULES WITH THE SUPPORT OF THE MIGHTY SPIRIT-GODS; THE GREAT FLOOD THAT NONE CAN OPPOSE; HE WHO TREADS ON THE NECK OF HIS ENEMIES, TRAMPLES DOWN ALL FOES, AND SHATTERS THEIR ARMIES."

Was it now he whose will trampled on my own? A powerful hunger was growing within me as the Scepter's bright blue energies surged through my veins and held back the hut from collapse. Everything was happening very quickly now and as my pulse raced I became dimly aware of someone shouting at me. I gnashed my teeth and strained muscles, my breath hitching as I tried to let go of the weapon. I did not want this ancient power, nor to stand among the embers of this doomed place until oblivion took me. I wanted to run far away, headlong into the arms of those I love.

I felt very weak and tired now, and realised almost too late that the Scepter had almost completely drained me as though I were simply a battery. Sweat was rolling down my face and soaking my clothes. My limbs were tense and as still as a statue. There was a loud buzzing and growing numbness in my head, and I knew this was it. With my last thought I tried to reach out to Rhonya through the mental link we shared, with the only words I could think of, the only three that had ever mattered to me. I chanted them like a desperate prayer for salvation, with every last fiber of my being.

I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you I love you I love you iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouILOVEYOUILOVEYOUI--

As unconsciousness took me, the Scepter's power ceased. Thatch aflame, ripped leather and crumbling stone came tumbling down atop me. A heavy wooden beam landed atop me, crushing my body and snuffing out what lifeforce remained. Sadok Sharptongue would live, laugh and love no more.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

I paused a moment at the mouth of the cave, catching my breath. Whether any of this was truly real in either a metaphysical or epistemological sense, it should be noted that I was no fitter in the afterlife -- a long sprint over uneven terrain left me gasping and sucking wind. The cool shady stone was soothing against my skin, and I took a few moments to spread aching limbs and simply relax in this safe haven. The Eternal Plains were an orcish afterlife, so it made sense that it would be a fair-tempered yet hardy land of wild beasts where the thrill of the hunt might be forever indulged.

This was no paradise for me, but then neither was the mortal realm, where in a desert of despair I drank deeply from the oases of those I loved to slake my thirst. I smacked my dry lips as my eyes wandered the shadowy depths of the cave. Here I felt ever thirsty. But where were the loved ones that had gone on before me to the spirit realms? Where were the hallowed ancestors of the Horde, toasting their honor in mighty greathalls and sharing tales of valor? Why hadn't I encountered orcish hunters on the field, or warbands riding the roads? Where -was- everyone?

Maybe none of this was real. Maybe it was a dream or vision and I'd just wake up in my hut again, like none of this had happened. My eyes focused harder on the cave wall, honing in on the specks and grooves of the rock. These felt real at least, their patterns stable rather than the gradual formless change of a dream. My hand moved to my side, unsheathing the trusty serrated spellblade that had made the journey from life to death with me. Shuffling closer to the cave wall, I brought the blade to bear upon the stone, scraping it downwards. One line for each sunrise in this place would make sure time didn't lose all meaning, and from there perhaps I might ascertain what was truly real here.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

There were now some sixty marks on the wall of the cave, where I had now taken up permanent residence. I slept in the fur of a sabrecat I had slain on day three, lit the cave with torches from wood I had gathered on day eight, and drank from a leather skin I had fashioned on day fourteen. On days sixteen, seventeen, nineteen and twenty, I gazed into a nearby pool and tried to commune with the material world. I wanted to talk to someone, anyone... but especially Rhonya. I may have died but I was still here, still breathing and eating and drinking and sleeping. I wasn't gone, not completely -- and I was lonely, very lonely. I hadn't seen any other orcs, and hunting alone was very tiring. Perhaps next time I ought to track something furrier. The nights were growing colder now, and my bed still felt empty.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

It was on day seventy-six that my constant meditation finally yielded results. Surveying my reflection in the pool, I saw the water begin to ripple and form familiar shapes. Floating islands, mighty waterfalls, a great mountain of white -- yes, Nagrand! The Land of the Winds had long been favoured for communing with the deceased, and with the formation of Outland the bounds between mortal and spirit realms had further weakened. I focused on the one face I wanted to see, imagined her gentle features, soft hair and brilliant blue eyes... and she appeared before me, an image in the waters!

She was not happy to see me. I will not recount the specifics of what transpired, for even to think on that makes my heart heavy. She was trying her hardest to fulfil her last promise to me, to be strong -- and for that she had to conquer her grief, move on and leave me in the past. A pang of self-loathing formed in my stomach. What was I really hoping to achieve, reaching out to her? Didn't I care that I would hurt her by reopening freshly-sealed wounds, and force her to confront what she had lost? Was I truly so insecure, so egocentric, so desperate for things to be the way they were?

Well, yes.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

Day one hundred came as somewhat of a milestone. I had spent so much of the intervening time crouched over the pool, not reaching out directly to any one orc but instead scrying upon the tribe's coming and going throughout the world. I lived vicariously through them, rejoicing in their victories, agonising over their setbacks and mourning their losses. How great the menace of the Burning Legion seemed before them, how new and exciting the Broken Isles seemed, how eerie and yet beguiling the renegade Demon Hunters were. I wished with all my heart that I could be there beside them, not watching from far away but really -there-. That night as I curled up in my furs, I allowed myself some selfish tears imagining all the glory, honor and sheer fun I was missing out on.

On day one hundred and one I decided to stop looking into the pool. What had started as simple escapism had become an obsession, and was consuming my every thought. I didn't have to forget, but I had to move on and be strong. Like Rhonya.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

Day one hundred and twenty one. Four months. I haven't seen any orcs at all. It's just me and an infinite number of bloodthirsty beasts. I'm lonely. I'm very lonely. Is the Eternal Plains a paradise or everlasting damnation? If this is the Eternal Plains. I knew that the souls of the damned, warlocks and other unfortunates might simply cease to be after death, or be entrapped in the hellish depths of the Twisting Nether. Is that where I am now? I gaze at the blue cloudy sky, craggy brown soil and the pool I had sworn off staring into. It all looked pleasant enough. I don't understand.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

When you spend a long time alone (some one hundred and forty days now), a good memory is invaluable. You can never be bored when you think back on better days and let them play over and over in your mind. I reflect on all that has happened to me, and one memory edges into focus. Vashnarz is naked, piggybacking on top of him. Both are laughing and smiling. She exclaims that she's a bird. The others gathered around the campfire are laughing and smiling. I am not. I remember the last time I saw her naked, long ago. I remember the last time I made her laugh and smile, which seems just as long.

Later that night I find out that they're courting. He's taking two mates, for one would simply not do for an orc of his stature. He's taking the orc that once breathlessly exclaimed her love to me, that she would stand by my side for as long as her legs would carry her. I'm here. I'm still here. I haven't gone away. But I'm undead, my soul wrenched into another body as the result of some freakish experiment. When she looks at me she doesn't see the one she once loved. He died long ago, and she moved on. To him.

I once loved Vashnarz with all my heart and soul. She broke my heart. I once loved Kyrazha just as much, for taking a broken orc and teaching him to trust and love again. I broke her heart. I had loved Rhonya all along but accepted that we were not to be, until the dreams and visions of forbidden desire eroded my willpower. She grew to love me truly, not as a blood brother but as a lover. I believed... I believe she is my soulmate. But I died and it's been so long since I've saw her now, as a vision or in the flesh. Sometimes it's hard to remember what she even looked like.

It's hard to keep thinking on this subject but it's harder to let go. An orc can love many others in one life, but I had loved precious few in two lives, though with a great intensity. An intensity bordering on obsession that had seldom been healthy for me. And yet I needed it. I need it.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

I spend a lot of my time wondering, now that I've stopped gazing into the waters. Sometimes I spend so long wondering that I forget to eat, and soon I'm too weak to hunt for my food. So I just wonder  some more. I know it's bad for me and the pain sometimes gets too much to bear, but you surely can't die in the afterlife. Maybe if I die here, I'll be reincarnated in the land of the living. Maybe if I die here, I'd just stop existing. Would that really be so bad a thing?

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

Sometimes I wonder about Luk. A close friend once upon a time, whose dangerous research drove a wedge between us. Choosing exile over facing justice, he lost his sanity and was consumed by hate. He chose to exact revenge upon me, and eventually the entire tribe. His reward was to be entombed within the soulblade of Caruk Blackblade, where if his essence still endures at all, he must surely be in constant despair, left with nothing but memories and regret. Huh.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

Day one hundred and... or two hundred and... there are a lot of lines in the cave wall now. It's hard to count them all.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

I decided to stop wondering and start wandering. I still feel weak and hungry though, so by the time I reached the pool (which I've decided to stop gazing into) I took a break to rest my weary limbs. It was starting to get dark and I didn't want to lose my cave and my markings, so I spent the evening crawling back. These plains may be eternal but my world has shrunk considerably. When nothing matters anymore, why even leave the cave? Here I can lay down in the cool and mark down the days that have passed.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

I've decided to stop gazing into the pool.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

I wish I could see her again. It wouldn't have to be a long conversation. It could be three words. Just three words.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

If I could be brought back, would I? I'd just die again and end up here again.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

After much deliberation, I'm no longer gazing into the waters. I feel like it's for the best.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII

I feel lonely.

IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII I

I feel very lonely.

[The Fall]

The Fall



((Soundtrack for final few paragraphs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LyEvuULDFs ))

The rider pressed his wolf on at a leisurely pace, taking in the warm, pleasant summer’s evening. The sun was on course to set across a bold red Barrens sky; the hunter’s moon would soon creep from thick cotton-candy wisps of cloud to guard the night. The riding wolf padded its way dutifully through the lemon grass across the plains from Mor’shan Rampart to the Dry Hills. Though the distance was not great, it might as well have been a world away.

Sadok let out a pained grunt as he rode, clutching his chest and easing the riding wolf to a trot. There was another reason for his slow pace tonight. Earlier in the day, the tribe had investigated a corrupted druidic Barrow Den in the thick forests of Ashenvale, and Sadok had been wounded by his own magicks. He had gone long without practice due to a curse laid upon him, and he simply delved too far, too deep and too quick into the font of Nethermancy. His burnt flesh and uneasy breath were a constant reminder of that folly, and why he was being sent back to the hut by Rhonya â€" to rest and relax a time, as Mor’shan was deemed unsafe.

The hut. Nestled at the foot of rising mountains and hidden within a sparse forest of withered acacias, Sadok had made his home now for over five years. He had shared the humble stone-walled hut at first with Vashnarz, and later with Kyrazha. Now it served as a quiet refuge for Rhonya and himself, and moreover for their au pair Sukeenah, whose charge included no fewer than eight small children â€" the oldest Igurg and Skorm, the twins Mirek and Mira, and Altan and Zoran, the shy Vaala and the youngest, Iswer.

Sadok had fathered four, Rhonya had mothered four, and yet they had not produced any cubs of their own â€" though not for lack of trying, Sadok mused wryly to himself. Eight was more than enough, and they would become even more of a handful in the decade or so before the first came of age. Eventually, in perhaps fifteen years or so, Sadok and Rhonya would be left alone. “Then the fun begins,” Sadok chuckled softly to himself. In earnest, Sadok deeply loved all eight cubs, and had grown to accept Rhonya’s own as his charge to raise and cherish himself. He had been a competent High Blade, but the greatest challenge and largest honor of all would be to become a good father.

He had finally arrived at the hut, and he swiftly saw to dismounting and tying his riding wolf up by the hitching post adjoining its eastern wall. He peered thoughtfully across the way to Rhonya’s well-maintained herb garden, the wooden troughs and green plants ordered in their own deliberate fashion. In his vision a year ago, gardening had brought Rhonya much relief and pride â€" and so it was in reality, after he had spent some four weeks constructing the lattices and troughs himself. His heart would swell to see her working in the garden for long easy afternoons, humming contentedly or in quiet satisfaction.

His attention moved to the comely figure sat in the doorway. Another relic of his Vision Quest, Sukeenah had proven an unexpectedly dedicated childminder in the dream life with Rhonya that had been dangled before him â€" that he had resolved to make real. And so it had been that the wandering loa priest of Shadra had found an unlikely calling caring for infants, a duty she upheld without complaint. Even now into the evening she sat there, a stack of cub-sized clothes perched on her lap and a needle and thread between two of her three fingers. She was nimble with the needle in spite of her strangely-shaped hands, and Sadok got the uncanny impression of a spider spinning its web.

Sadok gave her a quiet nod and peered within the cool darkness of the hut to find the eight cubs asleep, curled up in their own furs and cots. Some cuddled one another, others shifted restlessly, but all were already asleep. Sadok shook his head in faint disbelief, peering down to the troll. “They asleep, aye? I don’t know how you do it. That Skorm boy is surly enough, and Igurg be so energetic that it must be a challenge to get either of them abed.” He gave her a playful toothy smirk and folded his arms, eyeing the clothes curiously. It was largely a front, for Sukeenah had her own perceptive way of pricking his pride when he erred, and he mustn’t talk about his earlier accident.

Sukeenah gave a light shrug and continued her work, patching up a miniature shirt with those spiderlike hands. “Just keep them busy enough during the day, it’s easy enough when you know how. They’ll drop like flies eventually.” Flies. The word hung in the air, the pun left unsaid as Sadok instead moved to sit by her awkwardly in the doorway. “No doubt shepherding that flock be tiring work. Yet the sun is soon to set and here you are, still sewing.” He looked up to the sky as if in confirmation, and found that a dark cloud had began setting in, covering that red evening sky. Strange.

“It is a good thing they’re with so many,” she spoke after a while, “they often just entertain each other. I tried teaching them today the difference between herbs and plants we don’t need. They can help Rhonya in her garden.” Sadok’s heart stirred again, a smile coming unbidden to his lips as he pictured Rhonya working with the young amongst the trestles and greenery. “Rhonya would like that, methinks. And I could teach them their letters and numbers. I have limited uses in this world, I may as well make the most of what I can do.” Sadok thought on that for a moment, something else coming to mind.

“I took your advice, when we last spoke. I spoke to Rhonya about my… hiding behind a mask with the tribe. She thinks it’d be good if I showed a more serious side to the tribe, especially since she be getting friendly advice from more than one orc that I don’t deserve her. I led the arrangements for the pyre tonight, I be sure that helped a little.” He grumbled insecurely to himself, gazing out to the ever-thickening dark cloud across the sky. Sukeenah seemed more curious than anything, smirking a little as she spoke: “Good choice. You should just be yourself. She chose you and no-one else, so trust in her more. You orcs and your complicated relationships.”

Sadok grumbled, remembering the fragments of what he knew about trollish couplings. Simpler but cruder and crueler, he surmised. Neither fair nor honourable, especially to females. He wanted to say that, wanted to mention that there was a reason Sukeenah was with ‘complicated’ orcs instead of her own kind. Instead he just motioned to the overcast sky and muttered. “Storm be coming. Let’s get under the roof, I hate rain.” As the pair moved inside, a distant rumbling could be heard someways above the clouds in the darkening sky. Not long after they settled within, their idle conversation was drowned out by a huge crack of lightning, the clouds lighting up bright green. The accompanying thunderclaps were booming and ominous.

Sadok’s eyes went blurry from the light, rubbing his eyes awkwardly. “That’s one fel of a storm out there. I’ve never heard the like.” He twitched as he thought on the word ‘fel’, and turned to Sukeenah, who had already narrowed her eyes in suspicion â€" “Keep them in bed, I don’t like this. It feels wrong. I can sense a kind of…” Everything turned white as the sky lit up again with another flash, this one closer. The cubs began to stir and whimper from the booming sounds, and Sukeenah moved to comfort the babbling children with hushing sounds. “What in loa’s name is going on, Sadok?” she demanded, and Sadok felt compelled to find out.

What once seemed like a distant rumble now sounded like coals crackling in an angry fire, and as Sadok woozily treaded to look outside, his jaw dropped and he let out a kind of throaty wail. The sky had been smothered by the encroaching dark clouds, projecting an unnatural darkness across the Barrens’ plains. Huge flaming rocks streamed from the sky, lit up in sickening green. Hundreds were streaming from the sky, and each time a meteor made impact with the ground, the whole world would flash blinding green and echo with the thundering sound of collision. “Spirits save us all,” Sadok muttered in disbelief.

Sukeenah poked her head out of the doorway, Vaala and Iswer in her arms. Skorm had ran from his bed to cling to Sadok’s leg, gazing out at the falling rocks with an oddly quiet expression. “What are those?” the spider-witch hissed. “It’s the end-times,” Sadok growled in response. “A reign of chaos, a rain of fire. I hoped it’d never come.” Sukeenah snorted indignantly, though the fear was plain in her eyes. She spoke something, but Sadok didn’t hear. A fiery meteor struck the ground close to the hut, and all turned to blinding light and silence before an eardrum-shattering sonic boom echoed out. The force of the collision sent Sadok and Sukeenah to their feet, the cubs cast to the floor like ragdolls. The stone walls of the hut held firm for now. All that could be seen now was an impenetrable black fog of smoke and dust, as burning ash began to fall from the sky, its very touch enough to scald the skin.

As Sadok came too, the first thing he saw were the cubs hiding under their furs from the onslaught, already beginning to cough and choke from the ash. He opened his mouth to cry out, but it was immediately coated in dry burning dust and he rasped painfully. He forced through the pain and began to incant loudly, his voice slow and breathless. A bright violet mana shield expanded outwards from his body to cover the boundaries of the hut, causing the ash to vaporise and clearing the air. “We’re safe, but only for now,” he thought. He was already weak and uncertain with the arcane, and he could feel the drain of maintaining the barrier. His focus and concentration was being depleted, and he heard Sukeenah’s voice faintly before she had to repeat herself louder.

She was busied with wrapping the cubs’ flesh in large pieces of cloth and fur, mummifying them to protect them against the ash. Some were putting up loud protest, but she calmed them by insisting they were “going on an adventure. Just like the tales of your mother and father, alright? Keep these around you.” She saw to tying a length of rope about their waists, and spoke of extracting them to Orgrimmar. Sadok shook his head, his attention half-occupied by keeping the shield up. “If the Legion have come, Orgrimmar ain’t safe. If it’s this bad in the middle of nowhere, imagine how hard the hammer falls in the epicentre.” His eyes went wide as he felt something clawing away at the edges of his barrier, threatening its integrity. Imps.

“Sukeenah,” he exclaimed drily, his throat still sore. “You’ll have to kill them from the outside, magic can’t carry through the shield! Break them before they break us!” Sukeenah snarled in response, grabbing a spiked ritual dagger and stepping outside of the bubble. The violet energies seemed only to reflect back Sadok’s own vision, but he saw bright green flashes before Sukeenah stepped back in, her eyes glowing green and felblood coating her dagger. Her skin was singed here and there and she looked enraged.

Sadok had the cubs close by, bundling the wailing infants tight tho his chest as he worked desperately to uphold his focus. “Stay by me… Mira, Mirek. Everyone… Skorm, you too. Everyorc stay by me, just stay here and you’ll be safe.” Sukeenah spoke of leaving now, but Sadok insisted she check for a viable route of escape before bringing the cubs out into the unknown. She slunk away into the fog, claiming that she knew a path through the hills to the Mor’shan Rampart. “Stay safe,” Sadok told her as she left. He hoped she would return soon, as the shield was already beginning to flicker and falter. He gritted his teeth hard, trying to maintain it at all costs.

But after some minutes she still hadn’t returned, and Sadok began to panic internally. He kept a brave face for the cubs, but they no doubt noticed him beginning to shake, and he frantically wondered what he’d do if Sukeenah had been killed. He heard continuing rumbling and saw the bright flashes through the fog-cloud, and soon he realised almost too late that he’d expended the last of his energy. The floor tasted of salt. He was face down on cold stone and ash was sweeping in. Had he passed out? The cubs were crying and coughing. They were dying. He would die too, if he didn’t do something quick.

Then he heard it whispering to him. Behind a shredded hammock laid the Sceptre of the Shaman-King, that he had been entrusted to keep these past four years. A fabled relic of Clan Redblade, it was said that the Thur-Ruk Oracles had sacrificed part of their own spirits to this weapon, allowing Mruthgor the Shaman-King to become the most powerful Spiritwalker of his age. A conduit to the Spirit Realm’s purest energies, it had fallen into the hands of the Twilight’s Hammer cult and the tribe had tracked it down to a temple of the Old Gods in Silithus. Sadok had long tried to unlock its secrets, but he had come to realise that its powers lay beyond any of the tribe’s spiritualists.

And yet now he was holding it somehow, and a stream of bright blue energies were gushing from its tip to eradicate the ash and purify the air. He felt very hot all of a sudden, and he could feel a strange burning in his eyes. He tried to cast it aside to tend to the cubs, but instead felt himself marching out of the hut and clearing the fog with a sweep of the Sceptre, as if it controlled the winds. His limbs were being animated by something eldritch, and Sadok soon came to realise that he wasn’t using the Sceptre. It was using him.

He trudged forward at the Sceptre’s behest, casting it from side to side to fell lesser demons with bursts of pure energy. He soon came to a deep crater with a deactivated del-portal and the corpse of a felguard. Sukeenah was stood over it, bleeding and burning from the ash â€" and in her sights was a terrifying thirty-foot tall terrorguard, drooling from its twin mouths and lashing a fiery whip. Sadok found himself hefting the Sceptre high, the weapon bathed in pale blue light, and as he swung it into the air, he felt its invisible power ripple outwards. The terrorguard’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, as if the very demonic life were sucked from it, and it stumbled clumsily to the ground. Dead.

Sadok found himself grinning toothily at Sukeenah, but he didn’t feel happy… he just felt very, very hot. Sweat was beginning to bead across his forehead, and he looked onto a bewildered Sukeenah who looked as if she’d seen a ghost. “What in loa’s name are you holding?” she exclaimed, and he answered in a voice that sounded different from his own. What he even said, he did not know. The Sceptre tilted towards her, and the burn-marks covering her skin suddenly began to disappear as if they were never even there. He felt his own eyes gleam with a blue fire, and shuddered to feel the pure energy flowing through his veins. But Sukeenah seemed wary, scowling. “Don’t use that magic on me, please.” The pair entered the hut again to retrieve the cowering cubs. They seemed terrified of Sadok for some reason and ran to the troll’s side, far away from him. “Come on, you lot,” Sukeenah chirped cheerfully, though her heart was no doubt full of dread. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. Follow the brightly-glowing papa, we’re going now. Hold each others’ hands.”

At that moment everything happened at once, and a loud whistling noise came overhead as something large and rocky came hurtling atop the hut’s walls. The ceiling erupted in bright green flame, crimping and collapsing like the houses of cards Sadok had once built to distract himself from Rhonya’s absence. Rock, ash and burning wood plunged to the ground, as the force of impact sent Sukeenah and the cubs hard to the floor. They would be crushed beneath the hut in microseconds, but time seemed to slow for Sadok as he remained perfectly straight and rigid, the powers of the Sceptre animating him like a marionette. He held the weapon high to the roof, and the flaming thatch, ripped leather and crushed stone all froze in mid-air, as if suspended in time. The walls collapsing, the roof imploding, and yet frozen in the air.

The first pieces of airborne debris hung still above Sukeenah’s head as she rose, and saw Sadok stood there with the Sceptre pointed to the destroyed roof, shaking and covered in sweat. His eyes were burning an intense blue and his face was drenched in sweat. He shook violently against the rigid position he had been locked in, and he snarled out in his voice. “Sukeenah. Get them -out- of here. Now.” She looked uncertain, but began ushering the cubs out as Sadok watched on with a sad, brave smile. The sweat was rolling down his face and soaking his clothes now, and he could feel the fire in his eyes steaming. He just tried to concentrate on breathing in and out.

“You can let it go now,” Sukeenah called to him. “Come on, we need to move!” Sadok continued to breath tensely, just stood completely rigid with the Sceptre pointed to the sky. His hands squirmed around the shaft and his feet tried to shift, but he seems frozen too no matter how he tries. As still as a statue, his eyes begin to well up with years and he begins to hyperventilate and panic. “I can’t let go… it won’t let me. Go. Without me.” Sukeenah gave him a look of horror. “I can’t just leave…” she began, but a few of the cubs tugged in terror at the onslaught around them, and she resolved to leave. “Get out of here, Sadok. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. I’ll see you later when I have dropped these off.”

Sadok watched them leave and struggled again, his fingers loosening slightly then tightening around the Sceptre. “Bring help,” he pleaded in a half-wail, but he wasn’t sure if she had heard. He was alone now. He began to shake and sob now, crying pathetically at the top of his lungs but remaining utterly frozen, the ruins of his hut a second away from collapsing atop him. Rhonya’s herb garden outside had burnt to ash, his riding wolf had bolted from the burning hitching post, and his only company now was the distant slumped corpse of the terrorguard, laid in the crater so close to his home.

He felt himself growing numb, and knew that soon not even the power of the Sceptre could keep him conscious. This was it. He reached out desperately through the soul-link he shared with Rhonya, steaming tears in his burning eyes, and tried to choke out a goodbye. It shouldn’t have ended this way. He had wanted to remain by her side forever, his one greatest love â€" his soulmate. But it was over, he’d failed her and now he would pay the ultimate price. “I’m sorry, Rhonya.  I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you I love you I love you iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouâ€"“ His strength at last failed him, and he passes into unconsciousness, the blue flame snuffed from his eyes. He fell to the ground, fingers still tightly wrapped around the Sceptre… and the rest of his hut follows. The burning wood, the heavy leathers and the crumbling stone make a horrifying crunching sound as they smash against the ground.

Sadok is crushed beneath the ruins of the life he worked to build and the future he had planned. All fades to black.

[Tempest]

Tempest

Uldum’s night air, cool and sweet, proved eminently salubrious in contrast with its scorching days. We were within our shelter, wrapped in a thick warm fur, safe and secure in each’s others embrace. Her eyes were closed, her breath tickling the nape of my neck, which prickled with gooseflesh. She didn’t say anything, and neither did I, for the language of skin on skin was all we needed tonight. She was only half-awake now, and as her fingers brushed and traced the outline of my chest before falling still, I knew that sleep had found her. I stared above at the twinkling starlight, and was thankful for this secret, special moment

My eyes were heavy, however. I closed them, and soon sleep overtook me. Not all at once, but gradually and irresistibly, lapping softly at the edges of my fading consciousness like the first waters of a slowly rolling, rising tide. I relaxed tense muscles, laid down all thoughts and surrendered to the void. It was miles to the coast, yet that beguiling tide was now all about me. I drank deeply from the endless blue wine, and before I knew it, I was taken from her arms and swept gently out to sea…

…

Shadows swirled before my eyes, and strange menacing tongues floated on the wind, almost whispering in my ear. Pulsing beams of light in pale red, blue and green cascaded like sickly rainbows tumbling from the sky, and I had to shield my eyes lest I be struck blind on the spot. When I looked again, the shadows had spilled into the air and onto the ground, surrounding me in a dark impenetrable fog. Shapeless forms shifted before my eyes, and I imagined I saw great warriors, sharp weapons and horrific monsters within it â€" I pushed through the smog before it swallowed me whole, and felt the smothering smoke and ash choke me.

I felt my way dumbly through the fog, for my sight and hearing was useless. As was my smell and taste â€" an overpowering reek of sulphur and brimstone was all I could discern. The smoke before me contorted in the shape of grotesque eyes and mouths, ready to spot and devour me without hesitation, so I changed course, advancing to my left some ways. I was hopelessly lost and without my bearings, so it came as a considerable surprise when something smacked bluntly against my shins, and I stumbled and doubled-over, losing my balance.

I felt the jagged shadows begin to poke, prod and gnaw around the edges of me, and I knew that there was no escape from this abyss â€" until a slender hand suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me away into some unseen island of sanctuary amongst the ravening nothingness. The shadows already ate away at its borders, and I knew that within moments even this oasis would be consumed by the blackness that had covered the rest of this realm.

As my eyes adjusted to the light again, I could only gasp as I discerned her form â€" her long black hair tangled and matted, her skin caked with dirt and filth, and a trickle of blood streaming from her cracked lips. Her clothes were tattered and left nothing to the imagination, and I could see the bruises, welts and cuts on her famished body. She gave me a leering, maddening glare, baring yellowed fangs â€" and I was left with the impression of being cornered by some feral beast hungry for its next meal.

I stuttered: “Rhonya, pleaseâ€"“ but she pounced upon me with a vicious snarl, driving her teeth into my neck as she sought to maim flesh and tear out my throat. Her fingernails were long and gnarled, and they slashed against my skin as they tried to pin me down. Yet for all her ferocity, she proved much weakened however, and in my desperate struggle for survival I was able to easily push her from me, shoving her harshly to one side as she half-vanished into the encroaching fog. My fingers moved to graze my bleeding neck, which stung and smarted, and I was overcome with anger â€" that she would strike me, bite me, seek to consume me.

But when I turned to glimpse her prone form, the rage subsided and was replaced by pity. She was seething and weeping, her red eyes burning with tears as her skeletal form thrashed and convulsed on the ground. From her throat came a haunted scream, and I was overcome with her vulnerability â€" a pathetic, withered carcass whining in the dirt. She was flesh and she was bone, and I was only meat to her. Her dignity, her compassion and her soul had been stripped from her, and she was now just a mindless beast.

As I studied her carefully, I had failed to notice the shadows encroach all about us, and soon they began to nip and prickle at me again. The gangrel creature that had once been Rhonya shrieked and panicked, like a startled horse â€" the shadows began to took her, and it was then when I noticed the dull gleaming on her bony knuckles. I thrust forward and groped for her hands, overcome by the sudden impulse. Her bloodshot eyes snapped on mine, and I heard her bestial shriek ringing in my ears as she pushed me away, writhing and hacking with her claws. I fell to the ground hard, and closed my palm hard around what I had taken from her.

How many months had it been, since I gifted it to her in the primal wilds of Tanaan? Or was it the Kosh’harg, amongst Nagrand’s tranquil breezes, or the tundra of Northrend? I could not remember, and it all seemed so many miles away and so long ago â€" yet I opened my palm and gazed upon the glittering golden ring, set with a brilliant blue sapphire gemstone enchanted with the magics of the churning Maelstrom. The shadows had now surrounded me completely, slowly devouring my consciousness, and I was struck with a sudden impulse â€" I cast the ring down with the last of my strength and the gemstone shattered upon the floor.

Endless streams of water gushed forth from the ring, a great tidal wave filled with the fury of the seven seas. A great upheaval of water, salt and foam washed away all the smoke, ash and sulphur â€" the shadowy warriors and monsters were extinguished at once, and as I was carried helplessly off by a strong surging current, I saw the gangrel creature I had once loved sucked into a raging whirlpool, tearing her withered flesh from bone with a sickening crack.

Everything about me was water and storm now, and I struggled to stay afloat as the salty waves lashed back and forth. My wound stung bitterly, but my only concern now was ensuring the freezing tide did not drag me under. The sky lit up with forked prongs of lightning, the ear-splitting electrifying crack accompanied by rolling thunder that boomed across the endless seascape. I was hopelessly adrift, pushed and shoved around like flotsam upon the briny blue.

I paddled through the storm, weathering the icy, turbulent waters as I sought some means of escape. Clearing my throat, I was struck by a splash of seawater that coated my mouth with the taste of salt and… blood? Indeed, as I strained to look about me, I now saw that the deep blues were mixed with crimson, and sea-gulls circled overhead, mangled limbs and flesh hanging from the scavengers’ beaks. The fins of sharks and other sea-creatures cut through the water, looking for easy prey. I heard the screaming and suffering of multitudes, crying out their last.

It was then that I saw the slave ship rolling on the tide, illuminated by an angry setting sun and the tempest’s fierce-edged clouds. The waves were sweeping its decks, and as the ship began to take on water, manacled orcs were being thrown overboard by its crew. The slaves thrashed and drowned upon the tide, some drowning and others already dead â€" I saw phantom hands and feet bobbing like buoys before vanishing under for good.

A panicked cry echoed from the slave ship â€" the sea shone with a brilliant light as the bowsprit was struck by lightning, the spar cracking in two and sundering suddenly from the prow,  causing the ship to heave violently downward. The bow was utterly swamped by the buffeting tide, and as the masts swayed in the wind, the ship found itself swallowed by the sea, men jumping overboard for their lives. Masters were mingled with slaves in the blood-red foam, and the sharks now swept in for their sport. The last thing I saw was the remaining crew clinging desperately to the sinking mizzenmast, furled sails slick with water proving treacherous for their grip.

I would see no more, for at that moment some powerful force dragged me beneath the waves, its claws wrapped hard around my ankle. I opened my mouth to scream, and instead gulped down lungfuls of frozen water. My vision blurred as a numbness overtook me, and I knew then that it was folly to hope the storms might wash away the shadow â€" for the forsaken depths of the sea cast the darkest shadow of all. I vanished into the void, to a watery grave.

[OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLDâ,,¢]

Hashtag this mother, cause it's round six of everyone's favourite shitpost thread!

Last time on Last Post Wins, Rashka retained her coveted OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLDâ,,¢. The two-time reigning and defending champeen is now 111 days into her dominion, but who can topple her?



Last post wins! If you are the last poster for a period of 24 hours or more, this thread is locked, you become a CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, and you get a custom graphic below your name to let everyone know how SPECIALâ,,¢ you are.

Your Name Here
Champion At Life
Proven

Posts: The Last

There can only be one CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, so if Rashka doesn't retain, she'll no longer have her title! And then congratulation, a winner is you.



Let the games begin!

Premiering April 24th 2016! What are you looking forward to? What do you think will happen?

(Book spoilers, if they still exist, in spoiler tags please. TV show spoilers fine.)

[OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLD.â,,¢]

Round four of everyone's favourite shitpost thread!

After 1645 replies and 110 pages, Regorn clinched the championship, and our very best orcs are in the process of prying the title belt from Umaua's profile. So let the games begin again! At stake is the very prestigious and pixelicious OotRB HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP (AT LIFE) OF THE WORLD.â,,¢



Last post wins! If you are the last poster for a period of 24 hours or more, this thread is locked, you become a CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, and you get a custom graphic below your name to let everyone know how SPECIALâ,,¢ you are.

Your Name Here
Champion At Life
Proven

Posts: The Last

There can only be one CHAMPION AT LIFEâ,,¢, so if Regorn doesn't retain, he'll no longer have his title!

Let the games begin!

Note: deliberate spamming of reductive nonsense such as one letter posts will lead to said post being disqualified, and in the case of repeat offenders, possible reduction in post-count.

[Tomb of the Ages]

Tomb of the Ages

Uulwi iris halvahs gag er'ongg w'ssh.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
  Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
  I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
  When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the great dark beyond yawning
  Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.

I had drifted o'er seas without ending,
  Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
  That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.

I have plunged like a deer through the arches
  Of the hoary primordial grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches,
  And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above.

I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
  That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
  That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things, I care not to gaze on again.

I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
  I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
  Shows the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall.

I have peered from the casements in wonder
  At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
  The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble, I listen intently for sound.

I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
  I have flown on the pinions of fear,
Where the smoke-belching netherworld rages;
  Where the jöklar loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.

I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
  The jewel-decked throne by Vir’naal;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
  When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far frozen isle.

Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
  And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of heavens can cheer it,
  Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
  Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
  I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

H.P. Lovecraft, "Nemesis" [partially adapted]

((June-July 2014))

*The following faded parchment can be found wedged in the Tribe's Annals, from a bygone campaign in the Frozen North.

FAO Chieftain Bloodmark â€" Northrend Report (covering the period 15/6 - 8/7 inclusive)

Important events:
â€" Chieftain falls into deep sleep after Tribe Meeting, attempts to ease his pain, provide sustenance and discover origin of malaise;
â€" Forsaken arrive at camp minutes after Chieftain’s sleep, seeking resolution of the Gruldaâ€"Daeyna issue;
â€" Scouting the northern wastes of the Borean Tundra for Scourge presence and other local problems;
â€" Rite of the Ancestors to ward against unholy energies and seek blessings of the spirits;
â€" Aiding the Tuskarr of Kaskala with basic supplies;
â€" Assault on Talramas, the Shattered Necropolis;
â€" Assault upon the Temple City of En’kilah, followed by offensive on Naxxanar, domain of Lich-Lord Blaine Winterfell;
â€" Rite of Om’riggor undertaken by Gashuk (tribal name: Soulfury) and Rajza (tribal name: Ripscale);
â€"Travel to the Sholazar Basin, and the Nesingwary Hunting Encampment;
â€" Hunting beasts to resupply stocks of meat, hides and scales;
â€" Scouting excursions throughout the Basin;
â€" Assault upon wasp hive headed by Nag’Ogar Gorewrath;
â€" Assault and sabotage of Venture Trading Company mining encampment;
â€" Trakmar Bearclaw’s Vision Quest
â€" Scouting of cultist encampment led by Alpha Gul’thauk Duskstalker
â€" Investigating the fallen Lifeblood Pillar, assault upon the Avalanche and destruction of Blaine Winterfell’s phylactery;

Merits:

â€" Oathbound Nograx Blackspine â€" managed to hold his temper and obey orders with Forsaken in camp (even I was surprised); participated in nearly every offensive and excursion; led two hunting parties, including one to retrieve proto-drake eggs;

â€" Thur’ruk Rhonya Steelheart â€" tirelessly watched and cared for sleeping Bloodmark, being responsible for his recovery and sustenance; along with helping organise a rite and a Vision Quest;

â€" Alpha Gul’thauk Therak Duskstalker â€" played key role in nearly every offensive and excursion; has helped train Gul’thauk aspirants in the absence of Varog’Gor; gathered intelligence on Blaine Winterfell and the Cult of the Damned; led scouting excursion to cultist camp;

â€" Nag’Ogar Gashuk Soulfury â€" has set aside fel for delving into shadowmancy; underwent Om’riggor; mended several orcs; has accepted Gul’thauk training from Therak Duskstalker; personally destroyed Blaine Winterfell’s phylactery;

â€" Oathbound Rashka Facebreaker â€" led small hunt in Sholazar Basin;

â€" Oathbound Trakmar Bearclaw â€" participated in nearly every offensive and excursion; had key role in Ritual of the Ancestors; underwent Vision Quest, completing Gosh’kar training;

â€" New Blood Threknal â€" has already distinguished himself ahead of fellow New Bloods, winning a Mark for his efforts hunting with the pack;

Demerits:

â€" New Blood Kradak â€" repeated sexual advances on Thur’ruk Steelheart, purported plot to murder Therak to steal her (along with trying to lure him out for a solo hunt), attempting to harass Abulos Sunwing, gifting hardcore pornography to Thur’ruk Sharptongue.

â€" Oathbound Tazok Drakebane â€" confrontational attitude, set Alpha Gul’thauk Duskstalker on fire after an argument, burning him badly; stormed out of camp and claimed he would break his Oath; was stripped of the Nag’Ogar rank, and has not been seen since.

â€" Rrosh-tul Grogona Marshfang â€" refused to sleep or leave Bloodmark’s side, arguing with Thur’ruk Steelheart; has not performed Rrosh-tul duties since then, neither leading nor even participating in a single offensive until Bloodmark awoke.

â€" Rrosh-tul Gridish Rimeweaver â€" limited engagement with Rrosh-tul duties, participating in a handful of offensives but being increasingly scarce as of late;

â€" Nag’Ogar Groshnok Gorewrath â€" sat idly while Alpha Gul’thauk Duskstalker was immolated; botched assault on wasps which nearly set large portions of the jungle on fire; blaming others when the offensive he led backfired.

Other notes:

â€" Threkna the Oathbreaker returned, begging to be readmitted to the tribe. After hearing her reasons for breaking the Oath and wishing to mend fences, has been readmitted as New Blood on a trial basis, until Chieftain Bloodmark can deliberate on her fate.

â€" Siyah-Gosh the mystic has sought the tribe but not joined its ranks. A scryer, he claims that he has a vested interest in the continued survival of certain key tribesorcs.

â€" Oguur has returned to the tribe after an absence of several months.

Signed:

Thur’ruk Sadok Sharptongue

Thur’ruk Rhonya Steelheart

*Postscript: in a different handwriting.*

Added merit by Rhonya:

-- Thur'ruk Sharptongue led the tribe in the time Bloodmark was unavailable. He acted as was expected of him, taking lead and keeping the orcs out of harms way, making sure everyone survived. Sharptongue lead almost every assault that had to do with Blaine Winterfell, including his downfall, where we were saved by the Ancestors due to a ritual Sharptongue had us partaking in earlier. He stepped up without being asked to, keeping us all together.

20:30

Wolfking Feraleye calls all orcs of the Red Blade to hear his words. Important tribal business, Oaths of Blood, promotions and other matters.
-Desolation Hold, S. Barrens

18:00

The Broken Keel tavern in Ratchet opens for all locals, as the orcs seek to enjoy a few brews and some pleasant company.
-Ratchet, N. Barrens

20:30

The orcs undergo survival training in the Southern Barrens. Will they be forced to drink zhevra urine?
-Desolation Hold, S. Barrens

The tribe and the Hand of Agony go phylactery-hunting after their uncovering of the true forces within the Razorfen Downs. Where will their search lead them?
-Domination Hold, S. Barrens

20:30

The tribe and the Hand of Agony delve deeper into the Razorfen complex, aiming to finally uncover the source of the horrific syndrome plaguing the Barrens' wildlife.
((IC Razorfen Downs dungeon run.))
-Desolation Hold, S. Barrens.

20:30

The tribe and Hand of Agony's search brings them to the thick tangled thorns of the Razorfen Kraul.
((Razorfen Kraul IC dungeon run.))
-Domination Hold, S. Barrens

20:30

The tribe gather to celebrate a decade since its founding by Matriarch Akesha Redblade.
-Desolation Hold, S. Barrens

7/10/15 - 20:30

The tribe and the Hand of Agony team up to track down the source of the mysterious phenomena evident in both the Barrens' quilboar and some of its wildlife.
-Domination Hold, S. Barrens

10/6/15 - 20:30

Gosh'kar Windwatcher encourages all members of the tribe to attend a ritual to stave off this newfound disease! For that, reagents are required. Who will show up to help her?
-Desolation Hold, S. Barrens

((Hosted by Kogra))