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Yus! Found me! <3

My inactivity continues. Just showing the spark of life here.

Hope it ends soon

Tsk, Chaos mongrels. For bloody Khaine!

On the fifth day of Christmas the Warchief gave to me...

Five "For the Hooooorde!"s!!
Four epic mounts,
Three grinding quests,
Two more loftys,
And an axe in a gnome's head.

Dunno about the rest of you, but this was new for me!

Didn't know Arthas and Phil Collins had this much in common! Listen to the vocals on the first link and the keys on the second. Same thing! Collin's just rocks that extra note!

Arthas
http://youtu.be/86f_U_q4SFg?t=39s

Collins
http://youtu.be/Qt2mbGP6vFI?t=10s

Right? .. Right?

[HUNTING GREEN]

HUNTING GREEN

His name was Mar’arek. Proven hunter of his people and now a tracker of the Iron Horde. He was among the best, but humiliated by other hunters of equal skill, he sought to reap the glory of besting them. With the Dark Portal destroyed and his hopes to prove himself in the new world gone with it, he took to the wilds. The jungle had always provided, and now it held strange people from beyond - he would hunt them.
    His wolf was Rel’gash, and with it he lead a small pack of orcs as befitted a hunt or scouting party. They soon came upon the slain orcs from whom Vanara and Mokh’tar had taken their black armour to disguise themselves, and went on from there. The hunter was very thorough and once he picked up their trail he continued on foot to not miss a thing, only riding his wolf companion to cross greater distances.

The hunter was a cunning orc, who saw no profit in letting his fellow orcs in on the glory of catching their prize, and he mislead them whenever they came close to their prey. Asking them to circle around to scout for other strangers in the wilds who might interfere, riding in plain sight to herd those he followed.

        - Great tracker, why don’t we just attack if they are nearby?
        - We press them, let them know we’re around. We’ll force their hand in this.
        - Shouldn’t we get them before we lose them? They don’t seem many.
        - Grr, stay your tongue before I lose you! We’ll follow until we have them
          where -I- want them. Now ride ahead, search the pass.

Mar’arek had found the place they met Lo’gush and the tracks told a strange story, as if they spoke of something more, and he suspected Mokh’tar and Vanara might lead him to something .. more. By encroaching on them he thought they would have no choice but to take him straight to what they were here for; Treasure, a cult, conquest, anything. He did not let the others in on his thoughts, portraying this hunt solely as a clean up from the invaders.

Days passed and by the end of it, the land began to rise up in the foothills of the mountains. Here Mar’arek made sure to spin his fellow orcs a tale, requiring them widely spread. A special trap which would amuse them, he goated. In the end, he sent them away one last time to do the job himself. He knew these parts well, and without searching the ground and thickets for clues much, he thought he knew where they were.

There was a cave of ample size for sheltering on the path leading up further into the pass and this was where he expected his prey had sought to hide from him. He watched the entrance without end, waiting until night fell and then came close, certain they would be there. He would have them for himself, and he could learn all they knew without sharing. His prey were.. unspoiled.
    The cave was darker than the night outside, but with a torch he ventured in, thinking he could hint a faint glow around the bend of a corner; their fireplace. He heard how it suddenly was stomped on and the fiery glow he had seen was gone. Holding his torch aloft he found the smith standing ready, armed and.. alone?

        - So here I find you, right where I expected. How easy it was to scare you left and right, finally 
          catching you in a place like this. You have been led like beasts to the slaughter. Now don’t
          look so gruff. You really think anyorc was fooled by those armours? Seems to me you only
          wore yourselves down even further..

The gloating hunter laughed and pointed at the black armour lying in a pile on the floor. He threw the torch to the side between himself and the smith, the flickering fire causing shadows to dance along the cave wall, licking one side of each orc with an orange hue. One brown orc, one green.

        - I see two sets of armour and more sacks and things than you can
          carry alone - where is your little companion? The short one.
        - Grhm..?
        - Alright, deny it all you want. Rel’gash, go stay by the entrance. I don’t want any surprises here.

The hunter began questioning the smith of their presence in Tanaan, why they had come through the portal when surely they would suffer defeat at the Iron Horde. What did they seek -here-? He kept a sharp eye on Mokh’tar, weighing each word said with a scrupulous attention to detail. The smith grew tired of this quickly, seeing he was no wordsmith! and felt this conversation was not going in his favour. He had been reluctant to answer at first, but now just wanted the hunter gone.

        - Doesn’t matter, tell me where you were going, and tell me all about the treasure.
          And who you’re meeting up with..
        - What treasure! What meeting?! We seek the Frostwolves, now go! Begone!
        - Frostwolves? So you go west? What for? What do they have?
        - Nothing! We seek a life! To live!
        - They will fall as well. Last chance, tell me why you’re here.
        - Bah, I told you. There is no fortune waiting for us.
        - Then I’ll take your belongings and be done with it.
        - I think not.
        - Wrong answer, old one.

Mar’arek drew a hatchet and a dagger, trying to talk to this green orc was not as bountiful as he had hoped. But maybe he could lay in wait for the short one, once it returned. He had eyed Mokh’tar up and down much while talking, and believed he knew just how to best him. His stance was especially broad, and he foresaw the smith moving too slow if required to. Glancing back toward the entrance once, he then came at Mokh’tar.

        - I hope you fight better than you hide! Lok’tar!
        - ..ogar.

Mokh’tar was not alone, of course. Vanara literally stood behind him, her small lithe frame poised up against the smith, shadowing his stance. Where his legs were, hers were right behind, and so she remained hidden from the hunter, concealed by the smith and the dark. Meanwhile Mar’arek had spoken, she whispered close and quietly, nudging Mokh’tar, who barely replied.

        - Remember the piggyback ride you gave me in the forsaken lands? Widen your stance.
        - Grhm..?
        - Trust me..

Before the hunter and smith could make contact, Vanara used Mokh’tar’s thigh to step up and vault herself acrobatically through the air daggers first, sinking both into the shoulders of the hunter as she came down on his back, a foot in the hollow of his knee. Mar’arek gasped and reeled back, his forward momentum had met Vanara’s opposite force and jerked the daggers deeper, completely stopping his advance until his body from shock and her weight threw him back down. The deft she-orc quickly slit the throat of the hunter, him laying half against her dead.

His name was Mar’arek,
and his wolf was Rel’gash.

The smith was impressed by the younger she-orc’s dauntless feat, and named her Fierce. She smirked satisfied with herself and licked her tusk in playful response to him. As if this was commonplace.
    The orcs slew the wolf as well. They were short on rations brought from Azeroth and this beast was their key to avoiding a dangerous hunt in the wilds of the jungle. In their cave, they prepared themselves for the coming day’s journey up the mountain pass above the hills. What lay beyond was unknown, but they had learned the Frostwolves dwelled west of them. That was enough.

Next morning they continued, leaving behind the hunter, the black armour and the remains of the wolf.


NO WARCRIES

The land beyond the pass was a breath of fresh air. The woods were less dense and the experience of entering this place was open and calming. Well, the orcs first felt uneasy from this gentle and undisturbed atmosphere, as if they had walked in on a part of the forest, the forest prefered to keep to itself. For surely they were being watched, strangely empty as it was. The trees? Ominously familiar, reminiscent of a darker wood thought Vanara; Terokkar. But for Mokh’tar it was a glimpse of time forgotten. He had passed under these boughs before, had he not? He seemed to recall their bloom. Glancing back at the mountain pass, the jungle did not seem that alien anymore..

It was altogether mild.

The orcs had relaxed and proceeded to journey on in a slower pace now they were not shadowed. Out of the jungle, out of danger. Although this was not entirely true, the orcs learned. Soon their quest to find the Frostwolves had taken them so far westward they hinted a shimmering of light ahead; The sea. With this new stretch of land opened up before them they saw the shoreline dotted with Irons, and they realised how little these lands would conceal them.
    If patrols were about they couldn’t waste time. Northwest the land continued up in more mountains, but those were fortified and proved no road at all. It seemed the only way was over water, to which they looked for logs for a raft, but after closing in on the beach, it was made plain to them; They wouldn’t be able to lift a raft from the tree line to the water without being caught. Nor could they build it by the water.
    When they saw the small boats the Irons came to shore by, dinghies rather, they decided that was their sole chance of not getting stuck here, or risk going back and somehow around.
    Reckless as Mokh’tar found it, they would make a dash for it. Spending what seemed like hours watching the Iron horde soldiers come ashore and drag their small vessels up, they finally found one which seemed slightly isolated from the rest. Two orcs jumped out and began hauling the mechanised dinghy in.
    At least the distance they had to cover was short. No one would see them before they fought the two orcs, unless they looked exactly at the trees they hid behind when they would dart out. Not even the two soldiers they hoped to assault would see them, if still busy with the boat. Just don’t trip in the sand now..

No warcries. This was a silent dash through the open to escape, not to bring death. The two Iron Horde shorecomers saw their attackers late, much like those further away first thought they were witness to some inside fight between two couples of orcs.
    Vanara feinted and slashed her foe, throwing her sacks, satchels and everything she carried into the boat, half jumping in before noticing Mokh’tar locked in a deadly struggle with the other Iron soldier. He was a strong orc and the smith was matched in strength as they tried to topple the other over. Though, both held each other fast and it was no trouble for Vanara to cripple the orc into submission. The orcs down the beach were roused and came for them.
    Mokh’tar grasped the dinghy and pushed hard at it to set it into the water again. Vanara had wanted to help, but the smith had nudged her aside when it didn’t move an inch from her attempt, and she stood inside it watching as Iron orcs drew close. The smith was not impressed with their transport as it touched water and glided into the waves.

        - These are landing vessels.. not seaborne for long!
        - We only need to get a bit off the way, go!
        - Grhmm! It has no oars!
        - Do something!

The smith desperately felt the strange machinery for any sort of lever or turning wheel, whatever to start this! Meanwhile the brown orcs lined up on the shore, rifles ready and aiming. Their captain still on his way down the beach shouting for them to just open fire and forget the formation.
    Mokh’tar found a chain and pulled it. The engine in the back of the dinghy coughed and silenced, followed by the noise of gunfire opened at them. Keeping low as best as able, the smith pulled on the chain repeatedly until the machine growled and suddenly they sped out to sea.
    Any wounds would have to be looked at later. Navigate the waters, get out of range of any ships and they might make it. Other dinghies they passed on their way out turned and took pursuit, but eventually the Irons were torn between following these green orcs and their orders of landing on the shore, and they turned back.

        - To think we’re in a boat, Mokh’tar.. and you cannot even swim.
        - Grhm.

The smith looked away and rolled his eyes, hearing her low snicker as he avoided her teasing gaze. How she found thoughts of jest was beyond him, and he folded his face in furrows frowning. Well, maybe she carried hope. That was something.

Many days had passed since the Dark Portal, and looking up, the orcs saw the sky still wasn’t torn like that of Outland. And why there were seas at all to sail on also remained unanswered, though every solution they could think of stood vague to the result they saw before them:

Draenor had been restored.

[THE IRON JUNGLE]

FORGING AHEAD

THE IRON JUNGLE

Battle beyond was no different than what the orcs had met in the Iron Vanguard before stepping through the Dark Portal, only the dry red wastes replaced by a humid jungle. Fighting, Vanara was most observant, while Mokh’tar was easily drawn into the fight. He fought violently and knew where to strike his spiked hammer to ruin armour, but she was deadliest.
    Efficient and running about looking for openings in the nearest foes, she found the smith’s wild and less coordinated fighting attracted opportunists in the Irons, who’d strike out against the him where he was vulnerable. She turned this to her advantage, though more than once she pulled at him to get back, bruised as he eventually became.

        - Mokh!
        - Grhm..
        - Our promise..
        - ...Fine!

Somehow the spirit link was silent. Why was it not working if this was Draenor? And where was this jungle on Draenor? They were here for the Kosh’harg not long ago. They would have to keep an eye out for everyorc as best they could.

Staying together as a pack didn’t seem possible in a dead on shield wall. Not with -the- pack at least, and people bumped into each other here and there, the fighting turning into closed minor battles between those within reach of each other. And whether they fell or was nudged aside, a new ally appeared much like sparring at war training, where one would change around and practice with a new orc. This was no practice, and their allies were not entirely orcs. Other races, tauren and trolls and more weaved in between the lines and the circles of skirmishes spread and formed again and again.
    Mokh’tar and Vanara tried to remain close to the tribe, always keeping an eye out for where their fellow orcs were, but the lines of soldiers shifted, the azerothian Horde pushed forward at the flank, and when looking around they could not find their tribe, only seeing orc after orc run forward and fill the space where the tribe and the Banners had been.

        - Vanara! Do you see the others?
        - No!
        - The fel is the banner?!
        - I don’t see it.
        - Fight on!
        - Mokh! Remember, if the tribe fell..
        - Grhm, so be it!

The two orcs, as most others, were intent on shutting down the portal, but once the magical connection between the worlds had severed, Vanara and Mokh’tar were all about surviving; If the tribe fell, they would seek their own fortune in Draenor, even though this jungle was a strange sight over Hellfire Peninsula’s wastes. Was the portal even at the same place as they used to know?
    The two drew further back in the ranks, making for the flank of those still reinforcing, those still eager to push through to the front. For which was most honourable? Death, or family? They shared a longing to begin the latter.

The Dark Portal came down on them. They had not understood the Banners had pushed through to the great cannon tank, nor heard the roar of its blast, but the gap to it was closed by the numerous Iron Horde again and Mokh’tar and Vanara were caught between the Irons and the storm of debris raining down from the gateway.
    Vanara sought her mate immediately as the blocks of stone came down behind them, though the ground-shaking tremors made the small orc stumble and she steadied herself with a hand on the bloodstained battleground. Once the hissing sound of the stone dust blasting through the air died down, a familiar coughing reached her ear. She smirked to herself believing the orc figure ahead to be the smith, and scaled some of the debris of the portal to try and get a view of the battle now enveloped in dust.

        - Mokh’tar!   
        - I’m here!
        - They’re moving!
        - What?
        - Others run for the docks! And the banner too!
        - What! Fel-humping Iron bastards! Curse you, you’re in my way!
        - We cannot go through them!
        - Bah, around then! Go!

Despite the fact the Iron Horde rejected fel and consisted of pure orcs, it was still one of the smith’s favourite expressions. Abandoning battle they ran eastward through the ruins at the northern base of the portal, hastily trying to get around and turn south toward the water to reach the ships. With their belongings on their backs and the strain in their muscles they ran through the thick of scattering people and into the maw of the jungle, brushing through thickets and bushes, stumbling over roots and rocks, just having to reach that shoreline!
    This was their chance. If anyorc was planning on surviving, it was through those ships in the dock. The land delved downward and they picked up the pace in their aching bodies, not heeding how well they put their feet as long as it brought them forward, running blindly, risking slipping at every skip and turn.
    Air. Empty hopeless air. They came to a sudden halt at a cliff overlooking the bay and the docks. The rockside plummeted right into the water. There was no way down but back by the broken portal. To their horror they saw ships were already leaving port, sailing by below. Mokh’tar grumbled under his panting, Vanara placing a hand on his shoulder.

        - Are ye alright, me wolf?
        - We cannot possibly.. get to them. Even if we left our things and jumped,
          we’re too weary to swim that far.. if they’d even notice us.
        - I don’t want to drown..
        - You said you saw the banner? Grhm, I don’t see it now..
          ..wait, why is there even water here?

Vanara and Mokh’tar stood there a moment, catching their breath, listening to the shouts and noises of war, and it was then the wind bore the words of the first ship to the high cliffs. There was talk of Frostwolves. Was this where they went? Mokh’tar thanked the spirits, even if he found they again abandoned him in regards to the spirit link. If only he could hear more. This wish was not granted him as the second ship was hit by siege fire and their cries outdone the other vessel.

        - Mokh, we cannot stay here.
        - You’re right. We follow them along the cliffs!
        - We cannot keep up wi--
        - We follow!
        - Grn..

The young she-orc darted after the panting smith and quickly overtook him, ever on the watch for dangers ahead. She would follow him where he went. Even in folly like this. At least he had hope, stubborn as he was.

Eventually they lost sight of the ships and were forced to find shelter to rest. Huddled up in high plants she denied Mokh’tar the first watch, seeing how exhausted he was. Vanara wasn’t in shape for much herself, and still she bore bandages around her head and torso. They would have to be looked at later.
    Awake alone, she sat quivering from an aftershock rooted in her core; the fear she had felt on the night before matched far too well the events of this day, and she grasped the hand of the snoring smith firmly.


GIVING UP

Walking disguised in Iron Horde armour was no simple task. The camp they had assaulted had been small, no more than a scouting party. And to find armour which fitted well enough to walk in was equally troublesome, making the silent march ahead a cumbersome one to say the least. If they could hide in the jungle all along it might work, but if the path forward demanded they walk through a bastion of Irons, they would be out of options.
    For Vanara sneaking was nothing new, and the jungle was dark in itself, but with their belongings, the heavy disguise on her back and a less than stealthy smith on her tail it became a challenge in itself. It only took one orc to sound an alarm and gather hunters. It was a slow march, although still rushed.
    It was difficult not to feel followed or watched as they snuck through the dense jungle, hiding from everyorc. If they saw something, they didn’t take the chance to find out if it was friend or foe. Avoid all. Even if they thought they saw someone they might know.

Avoiding most beasts and predators, they eventually came around one of the thousand great trees and was met by the ruffling of leaves in the nearby thicket. Before they had wits to hide, something slouched out into the open of their trail. The shape of an orc was all too easy to recognise, meaning this was no beast; They would have to think of something quick.
    The orc was clad in simple dressing, didn’t look like an Iron orc at all. While he challenged Mokh’tar and Vanara on the spot he was gravely wounded, removing his hand from his bleeding stomach to grasp his warblade and soon came at them. What stood out the most, was his skin. Green.
    Before words of warning could be uttered he came at Mokh’tar, and with his blow parried and redirected by Vanara’s swift intervention, he turned to her in his advance, sending a plated fist at her face and she fell back. The plate metal hitting her was not a gauntlet though, but a metal hand entirely. Of all the orcs of Azeroth and this world, it had to be him. He mistook them for Irons.

        - Lo’gush!

The smith shouted commandingly, raising his hammer in threat to stop him going further. Lo’gush snarled painfully and stumbled backwards, although it was of course more due to straining his wounds than Mokh’tar’s threat. Mokh’tar soon removed the iron faceguard concealing his familiar frown,

        - Wh-...who are you?!...and how you do you know my name ..Mokh’tar?.. Vanara?
        - What are ye doing here?

Vanara asked low, not liking the vulnerable situation. She had also taken off her faceguard and by looking at her, it would seem the jaw armour had fulfilled its purpose, not showing any signs of Lo’gush’s strong punch.
    Looking him over, Mokh’tar muttered low that Lo’gush was dying. The wounded orc replied to Vanara and peered between the two disguised orcs

        - ...I ...I don't know...I remember...pushing through the jungles…, ..you missed the ship.
        - Ye saw us? Grn, ye need ter cover yer wounds.. do ye still have the first aid kit from Steelheart?

The smith drew Vanara a few paces away and spoke low, wary of helping Lo’gush, and she was reminded of how ill she had been treated by him in the jungle vale of Stranglethorn. Lo’gush challenged;

        - Is this how you’re going to be again? Whispering behind my back..

It would be easy.
    So frightfully easy to kill Lo’gush here. Or just abandon him. Let the jungle take him. Vanara, as much as she had come to dislike the blade trainee, didn’t want to leave him to the spirit’s fate. She watched how Mokh’tar angrily stepped close to Lo’gush and spoke cold.

        - Death or help?
        - If you had to discuss it, you have already decided.
        - Alright, he doesn’t want our help, Vanara. Let’s go.

Unconvinced, Vanara stepped close to ask Lo’gush again, also keeping the males more apart.

        - So you don’t want help? Your wounds..
        - I am beyond help, I am near death and won’t make it as a pack.

Mokh’tar promptly turned and placed a hand on Vanara, who still was not convinced of Lo’gush. But when he then asked them to leave him be, she let Lo’gush do as he wanted and went with the smith onward, ever watchful.
    Mokh’tar had given Lo’gush a last goodbye as they parted ways. Vanara outright told the smith Lo’gush was an idiot to refuse help, and he agreed. At any rate, they did not need more surprises. Sounds from afar played on their minds, almost hearing wolves at every ridge.

L-look! I got the BIRD ON MY HEAD!!

The infamous Millhouse Manastorm and his mirror images, on their way to help Leeroy!
..which one is the real Manastorm?


(Left to right; Rudash, Kogra, Mokh'tar, Sunderskull, Rargnasha)

I has dis

[What tears at you]

(This happened in mid-October, so it's a bit delayed - First part "Stumbling for Azeroth" can be found here) http://orcsoftheredblade.com/forum/index.php?topic=3614.0

What tears at you

Which way was it again?
Rock. Little rocks. So much ash. Dust. More rocks. Crawling along the ground was safer than stumbling around edges on the jagged mountainside and his mind crawled with him. He had hit his head and thinking straight was still difficult â€" even what had happened over the last few days was a complete blur, but he tried to trace his steps backwards in his mind. Often merely provoking a surging headache. Unwittingly, other thoughts streamed in as well. He had to reunite with the tribe before <I’m hungry> they moved on from the Burning Steppes, which meant finding the right way down again.
    Find Shrika. Find her now, and find her fast. Sure she has some skills, but she wasn’t supposed to be away from the tribe, so every house had to be turned, until his throat would be sore from shouting. He found her soon enough, and Sarrif too, in his house under the Silverpine trees.

Strange sights
Standing at the top of the conquered waterfall he had just climbed, his feet in shallow water, he thought to himself the river was in recession, or he would have failed his daring climb of the falls from the body of water falling on him, and he hoped he would never have to do climb such again, exhausted as he was. Before he went on to stumble around in the ashen mountains of the Burning Steppes he stared at the lake before him,  squinting his eyes as if the sun blinded him, but there was no light too bright; Only something was off, something he couldn’t quite place or remember. If only someorc answered through the spirit link.
    There was something about Sarrif too. Foul and very cold. It was as if you could see him somewhere out of your eye, but if you tried to look at him he vanished. Not to mention the eyes of the paintings and the chill you felt when he moved close.
    Then there was the deal. He had asked Shrika for some strange accord, repeating “Yes or no?” and “What will it be?”. Mokh’tar sensed there was more going on than she let on, but for now she had softly avoided answering, and so he would save it for later. He never brought it up again.
    Shrika had clung to him and it had comforted him as much as it probably had her. But furthermore she had given him purpose, and he would give her the safety she sought; now the danger of Sarrif was right before them and he savored the touch of the young she-wolf’s grip.
    Lo’gush came and darted into the house after Mokh’tar and Shrika had only just escaped it. The smith was disappointed to see his brother had followed him from Nagrand when told to stay and fix the felhand, but he was not surprised. Sarrif had taken over Lo’gush’s mind and used him to strike out against Mokh’tar, but was it purely the fel-user at play here?

On the edge
Still trying to reach the top of the waterfall, he found the rockface wasn’t completely vertical and at places sloped in enough to lean against it, although it was all the more slicker. More than once he lost his footing and slid down to a spot he had been before, his joints burning with ache to stay from sliding to an edge where he’d fall all the way down (again). His palms were scraped and sore from the toil of the wet dirt and rock he constantly gripped at. Blighted mountains.
    Mokh’tar had struggled in the illusion of the caverns of time he and Lo’gush was swept into along with other members of the horde. Lo’gush called him weak afterwards and said the smith barely did anything but lie on the floor.
    Mokh’tar did not expect Lo’gush to watch over him, although they were the only two Red Blades there. Fortunately the troll Jahna had been there to help Mokh’tar up off the floor, but hearing Lo’gush’s demeaning words later in Gadgetzan suggested he knew Mokh’tar had been in trouble. Though the smith had been the one falling, it was Mokh’tar who was losing his brother in battle.

The matter at hand
He had to be more than halfway up the waterfall, when suddenly was a hand. There was a hand. In the waterfall..
    A hand stuck out the water, as if the water veil disturbed the rockface and hid a crevice from which the hand could reach out. It grasped his ankle and shook him with the intention of throwing him off balance. He kicked his foot around as much as he dared and saw the hand fly out the air without a body attached to it. It was dark like the felhand of Lo’gush.
    In the tavern of Gadgetzan he wanted Lo’gush punished for his spite and constant bitterness. So when they were at each other’s throats again, he goated Lo’gush into striking out against him in front of the elders present there. It did not teach his brother a lesson; He turned the humiliation into angered submission resulting in the loss of his felhand. His pride would be hurt, but his body would be saved.
    Shrika had sat on the roof of the tavern at some point, and as their eyes met she smiled. Mokh’tar thought things were going back to normal.

Bridging gaps
The smith soon came to a halt. He had passed the first easy parts, then come to a gap. He would have to decide to go on or not. Leaning one foot forward he saw he could reach the next rock, but he would be stuck in the gap, not able to vault himself over. He would have to leap. The rock had more of a point, than a flat surface; jump low and grip at it, or try to land on the point and skip on to the next part? Grhm, this was risky. Once he jumped he would be in the air and unable change it. Because of the elevation he would not be able to go back either. He’d have to go on or jump into the pool below. And he realized this was only the first of several gaps.
    He stood there long, as fear gripped him and his sight seemed to change and enlarge the point to such degree he saw little else. At long last he leapt. He managed to step on the point and press his foot against it to jump further, but slipping on the wet rock he hit his knee hard landing and the shock had him curl up to himself. Unable to move on, he sat there on the brink; his knee hurt, shivering cold and soaked from the constant flow of water - Afraid to slip into sleep, slip over the edge.
    He could attempt the link again, and as he did he quickly dropped the thought, as rushing pain in his head struck delayed and punishing, as if he had touched the blazing embers of the forge and the skin on his hand burned before he felt it.
    He found his patience tested in Bloodgulch in the highlands. The recklessness of many orcs burdened him still, and it only grew worse in his mind with all that happened. Furthermore, it was then he and Lo’gush began talking again, trying to mend the bond between them. In the end they made peace, but shortly after when his brother revealed he had taken a liking to Shrika, Mokh’tar had felt angry and betrayed once more; Shrika was his to look after, not the unreliable Lo’gush’s. -He- had made the timid female smile again and again, calming her when she panicked. Not Lo’gush. The smith soon fell into jealousy and suppressing it had his stomach churn every time he saw them together.
    The elders and the chieftain had somehow managed to mess it up and put them together in regards to Sarrif, whom had suddenly spoken through Lo’gush in his dark ways. Now Shrika was Lo’gush’s guardian. Fel’s sake, too convenient. The smith was losing his brother to her and her to him, and so Mokh’tar used every excuse he thought of to keep them apart, but he could not and he suffered.

Attention drop
The climbing quickly became a thing of intense detail. Choices. How much weight to trust the slippery wall with, how much to lean and where to go next. Everything mattered. The water which fell on him was tiring. It wasn’t heavy, but cold and it made him feel rigid when least he needed to be. He wondered if he could have done something, if he had had a better connection with the elemental spirits, like the shamans in the tribe. Maybe better offerings.
    Lately Kogra had been busy. She spent more time with strangers than with him now. It was not difficult to see she favoured one over the rest; a female known as Sinami. Though it had only been few weeks since they met, Kogra seemed to feel it had been longer and she distanced herself further from the smith. She even began sleeping outside camp and strayed on far journeys from it. The envy of Shrika and Lo’gush easily formed to include Kogra and Sinami.
    It was not only that his friends no longer came to him or needed him, but also put themselves in danger and were blind to it.  He was being replaced and his part in their lives faded. And so Mokh’tar grew disappointed in them.

Then there was Vanara. She had understood he was not interested in her as his mate, and Mokh’tar learned that in her sadness she had turned to Nyruk, Kogra’s weird and troublesome new blood, and cast her love on him, only to see him swayed by her own sister Karasha.
    Here in the steppes he had told her of his worries and jealousy. He was usually careful around Vanara to not give her false hope of her previous infatuation, but that day he had thrown sense and logic to the wind and they embraced longingly on the ashen mountainside.
    As pleasant as it had been to have her in his arms, he regretted it had been her.

Seething falls
Mokh’tar studied the waterfall curiously after having looked through the grassy ravine and found no way out but down more waterfalls into stranger lands. He noticed this fall had many protruding rocks and cliff edges breaking the falling water or hiding behind it.
    If he was careful, he might get some way up. It shouldn’t be too hard really. Of course climbing disoriented eventually taught him what careful meant, as he more than once slipped on the soaked rock wall to fall and break the water’s mirror in the pool below.
    Mokh’tar hated seeing his friends as pairs; walking close, sitting together, sleeping next to each other, showing extra care, and the soft whispers that flowed between them. Lo’gush followed Shrika like a puppy, Kogra clung to Sinami. He was reminded of Vanara and sighed to himself.

Where to place your foot
The smith was alone. The tribe didn’t answer the spirit link and his head ached terribly. Still he walked around, he had to do something. Food would be nice. A way out maybe. The area was surprisingly green and lush, very mild compared to the dust and ash he had come from. He was in a pocket though; steep walls with little to place ones foot on surrounded him and the chasm-like landscape was carved into the mountain by the river, leading to another waterfall. A dead end obviously. Going in circles back and forth he searched for something, some way out. He went back to the pool he woke up by again and again, giving it yet more chances to show him a way.
    Lo’gush had listened to Mokh’tar’s many words in Flamestar Post. The second time they really talked, although strangely Shrika and him had just arrived from some secret journey on a drake. Lo’gush was determined to leave the tribe, thinking himself an outcast, but Mokh’tar suspected it was because of Shrika mostly; since she would have to leave the tribe if she didn’t have -her- strange arm removed soon. Torn, Lo’gush came to the conclusion he would stay with the tribe, which the smith had mentioned needed him, for who would the New Bloods look to first? The regular oathbounds.
    Instead of going to Shrika that night, Lo’gush buried his axe in the ashes and sat down against it to rest. The smith showed his approval and accept by sitting down on the other side. The brothers were back to back again.
    Lo’gush didn’t stay fast to his decision and Mokh’tar found his brother grew vague and pushed his conflicts ahead instead of facing them. If the smith let him do this, he would surely fall to some easy temptation if he had not already. This was certain, and Mokh’tar kept demanding a decision.

On your own
Mokh’tar had found himself by the water’s edge beneath a waterfall. He had felt a dull pain on the side of his head and he stumbled disoriented and wet to his feet. He didn’t remember how he had gotten here, and looking around did him no better. He had tried using the link for the first time after waking - maybe it wasn’t because no one replied, but because he couldn’t receive their will? Or didn’t his come through? Numbing pain rushed to his head when trying too much and he had fainted again.
    Mokh’tar was going to follow Lo’gush to face Sarrif â€" very interested in keeping Shrika safe, who was coming as well. Sure he hoped to see Lo’gush rise from the numbness of his indecisions, but she was his main worry. He had found a moment with Shrika, and he would tell her all he thought and felt.

It would not go as so.

Before Mokh’tar had even spoken three sentences, a strange stag appeared near him and Shrika. They were outside camp and she seemed to recognise the creature. Something was horribly wrong about the stag. Strolling around in the ashen steppes was one thing, but when it suddenly spoke Mokh’tar knew this was not natural. The fact it said “Waffles” didn’t help.
    Much ensued that night. After charging it’s antlers at Mokh’tar throwing him down a hill, Shrika stood before it and calmed it, saving the smith from certain death. The two orcs left the creature behind and moved away. The stag perched itself high in hills and that’s when it spotted Oguur.
    Seeing Mokh’tar and Shrika, the young giant had approached them and damn him for doing that. The stag charged him too, and everything went ill. Oguur nearly died to his wounds, Shrika summoned a demon to help get Oguur back to camp and in the midst of the chaos of saving his life without menders, the stag appeared, flashing eyes of green now and then. Shrika took the demon stag, as Mokh’tar named it, outside and then and there she was exiled. In sympathy she had asked the creature to run, as Nyruk and Lo’gush came to slay it. A dark drake came at her call and bore her away. Mokh’tar was left with Lo’gush outside.
    As the smith still felt angry at his brother for his affection and secrecy with Shrika, he tried to learn what Lo’gush whispered her before she left. Himself having asked her to write him every week. Lo’gush was silent -again-, and eventually went inside. Was this good? They were separated as Mokh’tar wanted, but would that only spur Lo’gush to run of more? It wasn’t easy to tell. Oguur lived, his breath raspy as he lay near the fire unconscious. Mokh’tar stared at him long. His face turned from worry to anger; If Oguur had not come; If he had not been wounded so bad..
    In the end Shrika had been lost, and he failed her. Grasping his smithing hammer he threw it across camp in a fit of desperation. It would take him days before he picked up the hammer again, letting it lie in the ashen dust all along.

Assault!
Had he drifted with the current? Maybe he was thrown out the falls. Mokh’tar remembered swimming in the lake above, looking in on the grassy green shore seeing Sinami hand out strange soaps, her wolf close, Kogra running around and Oguur getting ready to jump in the water. Where were they now?
    They slew the demon stag which disrupted his moment with Shrika and had her exiled, but Sinami’s wolf needed water to cleanse it of the demon blood it swallowed. They left for a mountain lake Sinami had mentioned to Mokh’tar days before and that’s when…

Assault! Attackers, orcs? Many. Mokh’tar remembered now.
    From where came they? Had they followed them through the mountains? As the ashen steppes had offered no streams or lakes for days, Mokh’tar stood deep in water when he met his first attacker. The smith was poorly armed and panicking from the sudden onslaught of brown orcs and he backed more into the lake until he was struck across the head.
    Kogra had smiled at him today, first time since he drove her to tears in Bloodgulch; she had opened up, but had not been open to words. They walked and fell on words of Mokh’tar’s worries and anger. He told her of his jealousy and she had agreed to come to him more often than she had done. Would it be enough?
    In the end Mokh’tar realised Lo’gush was only angry and proud. Not -bitter-. He had not the depth with a heart like his. His brother simply felt wronged, believing himself to be right. Mokh’tar had taken it one step further; The smith was wrong to feel envy. He -knew- it but he embraced it still. The bitterness stung him …it might even have been his request for Shrika’s help in the first place, which brought them together.

What tears me apart first, anger or worry?
Eh, so hungry.

[Spoiler:]

Okay, this beat all the first three. Sorry for spam

Spoiler: show

So Kogra and Mokh'tar had a little "fun" in the smithy..

This has to be funny for someone! I traveled for 25 hours to get home to DK from my small vacation ...in Amsterdam.

I call it.. Germany strikes (back!)

I was planning on grabbing a series of trains from Amsterdam central station at 07.01 in the morning and arrive home at around 17.00, enough time to get home and catch the Om'riggor event and travelling.

Well, firstly it's so early I must bicycle to another station than intended. Done.
Once on the train for Osnabrueck in Germany, it stops in the first town across the border. Another train waits there. I go on it and is told to get out in "Rheine". Easy! Except the advice was faulty. I got out and learned I should have stayed! All passengers were driven in taxi to Hannover. I'm now 2 hours late. That's alright.

From Hannover to Hamburg after waiting an hour and driving for another, the conductor tells me no more ferries go today! So.. I'm stuck? I'm in Hamburg and its 16.00. From the schedule of my tickets I know it takes four hours to get from Hamburg to my place. 16.00+4 = 20.00, so I might just make it. And luck strikes!
Info lady at the station tells me there's a bus just outside going for Denmark in ten minutes! What luck!
...yeah, that was false info too. Speaking to another info lady she said there were no busses going before 20.45, which at the time ironically makes four hours. Well, won't make it for the event. Ah well.

Spending 4 hours in Hamburg.. dumdidum.. and the bus comes. We're 100+ Danes standing there. Seeing I'm late anyway, I wait for the promised second and third bus.. which never show! One hour and 15 minutes later we get taxies. From there it all flows well. Too well. Driver says he cannot make a stop since we're driving on the highway, so I see myself blasting past my own house basically, because he didn't want to drive up the ramp and down again to the highway. Where are we headed? The capital! I live 80 kilometers from there..

Right, to make it worse, he decides he wants to set every other passenger off on the highway ramps now all of a sudden. Leaving me in the city at 03.00 in the morning.  He didn't even want to take me back as he left for Germany again. So.. more waiting! First train leaves at 04.40. Yay, got home at 6.20.

So.. that's a 25 hour trip, Amsterdam-Denmark.

And to top it off; a dentist appointment at 09.00.

Tadaa

Away to Amsterdamsel from today till sunday.

\o/