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Hello Rhonya,

the story is modified as demanded, I hope it will do now. And I must say, I like the new story better.

See you soon
Kiltok

[Name:]

Lok-Tar, brothers and sisters!

Name: Kiltok
Class: Warrior
Level: 28

About my (role)playing experience: I play roleplaygames since the 4th grade. I started with the classical german system DSA, but switched to Dungeons and Dragons pretty fast, and I still play. Warcraftwise I came into contact through Warcraft I, and since then I played every Warcraft game so far (II, III, both plus expansion sets). In WoW I started with classic, playing more or less regulary in a nice roleplaying guild called Darkest Dreams, which predicted the upcoming downfall of Azeroth and tried to stop it. Since then I played every Expansion, but I never dug deep into the raiding content, either because of a shortage of friends to play with or a lack of fun in doing so. I usually played Alliance, but I feel myself more attracted to the wild Horde style, so I decided to reroll as Orc Warrior. Since I played on german Servers, I didn't have much to build on, but I hope I find a nice and fun to play Guild with to compensate for this. (If it isn't clear by now, I'm german, hence my probably improper grammar/spelling. I apologize for that.)

Background Story: Kiltok hammered his mug on the table. "More Ale!" he shouted at the innkeeper, his mouth dry from the talking he wasn't used to. "What do they think I am?" he mutterd in his dark red beard, "a nurse?". He stared into the eyes of three young orcish children, given him to care for his evening, since their parents, good friends of him, were celebrating the ritual of the blade and won't be able to care for them themselves for a few days. "I will tell you now how I became the great warrior I am today." he said to the children, "Listen carefully, and you should be able to learn something."

"It all began on the farm of my Ancestors, swine herder from the Hellfire Peninsula. They lived a normal life, herded the swine, fended off hunters who tried to feed on the swine, ate the swine, and so on. Their whole life were centered around those animals. They made a good fortune with this, since the war the warchief had cast on Azeroth demanded food for the soldiers, and dried pork was an easy way to provide this. As you know, the Horde was stopped, the few survivors cast into shackles and their will got broken. In one of those internment camps I was born. Never been able to live the life my father lived I learned to fear and hate the human, scarred by the imprisonment, sleepless from anger so strong that the young me couldn't control it. As I was twelve years old, I alreay learned how to fight and channel my hatred into devastating combat maneuvers, and so my father and I followed Thrall into Kalimdor. We settled in the Barrens, trying to reestablish the traditinal swine breed. But never used to this, I lived a relatively uncomfortable life, always missing the feeling of anger and hatred I felt in the camps. 

As I was seventeen years old, my parents were killed from a quillboar raid while I was out in the desert, hunting for food. They were starving and were going to steal all the swine. My father fought them off, but got deadly wounded, so my mother, after grieving for a week and holding the traditional burial rites, took me our family kodo and ventured to the lands in the south. Now responsible for her, I followed her there, knowingly I could've saved my father if I haven't been absent at the time the quilboar had struck.

In Thousand Needles I improved my combat skills, I wanted to take revenge on my father, and I had to do so, since the Grimtotem tribe was a very hostile and dangerous foe. I learned to construct weapons and armor from scratch, later improving my abilties to forge them out of every material possible. I lived a dangerous but good and honourable life, mostly fighting wildlife, Grimtotem Tauren and humans who happen to come from Kul Tiras to the north, trying to reach Gadgetzan in the south, killing everything on their way.

And one day, the earth shattered, screaming like a wounded prey, filling the canon with its tears, purging away anything with its raging currents of dark water flooding between the pillars that used to be my home for years. I left my mother and tried to reach Orgrimmar since I heard a new warchief was looking for soldiers. After a few weeks i reached Razor Hill in Durotar, and there I first met the Tribe of the Red Blade. This tribes members seemed honorable, strong and wild, bound to the ideals of the old horde. It seemed that joining them would fill the hole o felt since the time of the imprisonment."  

He glared at the Innkeeper who listened to his story instead of refilling his mug. "If I didn't get any ale soon I will dry out like the pork my father used to make!" he muttered. "I will continue, after my drink".