Name: Khralak
Class: Warlock
Level: 90
Roleplay experience:
Day 1 Defias Brotherhood veteran, I learned to RP on this server and continue to do so and improve to this day. I’ve always had a soft spot for the racial guilds of the realm and have been a member/officer of most of the significant ones at various points over the years (2GE, Sin Belore, Cult of Shadow, Arathor, Natures Grasp to namedrop a few), plus a bunch of guilds focused on the darker and more sinister elements of the lore. With the development of the Siege of Orgrimmar and WoD story, orcs have piqued my interest for the first time.
I enjoy RP at a deeper character bonding level, family/tribe style, which is why I hope to fit in here well. Morally dubious characters are my forté, and considering the class choice for this orc, he will likely be led down that path as well ‘someday’.
Introduction:
“Flames, aaargh, devour me quickly!â€
The floating green globe snuck stealthily past the Kor’kron guard, into the city. So much had changed. As the capital of the Horde, it used to be so much more than a massive fortress. It used to be a home. But now? Elite raiders everywhere, indiscriminately poking and clubbing not only peons, but normal citizens too. Revered colleagues and experts from foreign lands exiled to the slums. Worse yet, the arcane purists had become as arrogant in their supremacy as their elven counterparts.
“Deceiver’s Wrath upon you!â€
Watching from a high peak in the neighbouring Azsharan region, the warlock felt confident in his security. This was the third eye of Kilrogg he had conjured today. The mages of the Black Flame had harassed and threatened his colleagues in the Cleft of Shadow with impunity for a long period now, it had been such a relief to leave the city for a temporary respite in the field. Naturally nurturing an interest for the war against the Alliance and the Darkspear Rebellion, the warlock kept a close watch on developments in Orgrimmar. But in recent weeks, events had taken a more aggressive turn.
The Rebellion was fast advancing. The Alliance had landed on the shores of Durotar.
“I will NOT burn like the others!â€
Through the demonic eye, the warlock watched helplessly as his colleagues were burned and strung up on the rocky ceiling of the Cleft by the Warchief’s loyal lackeys. Only one resisted, summoning decimation upon the attackers, both the shadowmages and the advancing party of enemy factions. He breathed heavily in anticipation of the slaughter, but dismissed the magical eye before witnessing the conclusion of the skirmish.
“So many years of work, such unquestioned loyalty to the Horde, and this is how we are repaid? A dagger in the back is too fancy an expression for this injustice. That meathead of a ‘Warchief’ will experience the charring of said meat, the very same that he bestowed upon my colleagues.â€
He slumped onto a flat rock on the ground, sighing as he felt the world shrink around him as he contemplated past and future. He had been around since before the founding of the city, but his life truly began with the construction of the capital of the New Horde, content with being able to serve society without the legality of his preferred methods questioned any longer. Since the time of Orgrimmar’s conception,the city had seen the tenure of two Warchiefs, each with their damning flaws. Thrall, the chattel of humans, who would steer away from conflict with the Alliance at any cost. And then Hellscream’s pup, an overgrown child with more ego than wit or vision.
“If only a warlock were to rule, we could have prospered. Orgrimmar is lost. Our dream is crushed and scattered like powder to the wind.†the warlock mused further, as he tore off his hooded robe and threw it into the makeshift tent nearby.
Packing the bare necessities into his rucksack, he then formed himself a new more primitive robe off the dirty ground fabrics from the tent. As he turned around to begin the arduous march down the peak and towards a new life, he flicked his fingers, firing a spark at the flammable experimental concoctions left behind, burning the campsite to cinders.
“We’ll find ourselves a new home, won’t we, Rultuk?â€
The imp emerged from behind a cairn, cackling and playing around in the fire, before scuttling down the path in its master’s tracks, enthusiastically and vocally agreeing to his proposal.
Class: Warlock
Level: 90
Roleplay experience:
Day 1 Defias Brotherhood veteran, I learned to RP on this server and continue to do so and improve to this day. I’ve always had a soft spot for the racial guilds of the realm and have been a member/officer of most of the significant ones at various points over the years (2GE, Sin Belore, Cult of Shadow, Arathor, Natures Grasp to namedrop a few), plus a bunch of guilds focused on the darker and more sinister elements of the lore. With the development of the Siege of Orgrimmar and WoD story, orcs have piqued my interest for the first time.
I enjoy RP at a deeper character bonding level, family/tribe style, which is why I hope to fit in here well. Morally dubious characters are my forté, and considering the class choice for this orc, he will likely be led down that path as well ‘someday’.
Introduction:
“Flames, aaargh, devour me quickly!â€
The floating green globe snuck stealthily past the Kor’kron guard, into the city. So much had changed. As the capital of the Horde, it used to be so much more than a massive fortress. It used to be a home. But now? Elite raiders everywhere, indiscriminately poking and clubbing not only peons, but normal citizens too. Revered colleagues and experts from foreign lands exiled to the slums. Worse yet, the arcane purists had become as arrogant in their supremacy as their elven counterparts.
“Deceiver’s Wrath upon you!â€
Watching from a high peak in the neighbouring Azsharan region, the warlock felt confident in his security. This was the third eye of Kilrogg he had conjured today. The mages of the Black Flame had harassed and threatened his colleagues in the Cleft of Shadow with impunity for a long period now, it had been such a relief to leave the city for a temporary respite in the field. Naturally nurturing an interest for the war against the Alliance and the Darkspear Rebellion, the warlock kept a close watch on developments in Orgrimmar. But in recent weeks, events had taken a more aggressive turn.
The Rebellion was fast advancing. The Alliance had landed on the shores of Durotar.
“I will NOT burn like the others!â€
Through the demonic eye, the warlock watched helplessly as his colleagues were burned and strung up on the rocky ceiling of the Cleft by the Warchief’s loyal lackeys. Only one resisted, summoning decimation upon the attackers, both the shadowmages and the advancing party of enemy factions. He breathed heavily in anticipation of the slaughter, but dismissed the magical eye before witnessing the conclusion of the skirmish.
“So many years of work, such unquestioned loyalty to the Horde, and this is how we are repaid? A dagger in the back is too fancy an expression for this injustice. That meathead of a ‘Warchief’ will experience the charring of said meat, the very same that he bestowed upon my colleagues.â€
He slumped onto a flat rock on the ground, sighing as he felt the world shrink around him as he contemplated past and future. He had been around since before the founding of the city, but his life truly began with the construction of the capital of the New Horde, content with being able to serve society without the legality of his preferred methods questioned any longer. Since the time of Orgrimmar’s conception,the city had seen the tenure of two Warchiefs, each with their damning flaws. Thrall, the chattel of humans, who would steer away from conflict with the Alliance at any cost. And then Hellscream’s pup, an overgrown child with more ego than wit or vision.
“If only a warlock were to rule, we could have prospered. Orgrimmar is lost. Our dream is crushed and scattered like powder to the wind.†the warlock mused further, as he tore off his hooded robe and threw it into the makeshift tent nearby.
Packing the bare necessities into his rucksack, he then formed himself a new more primitive robe off the dirty ground fabrics from the tent. As he turned around to begin the arduous march down the peak and towards a new life, he flicked his fingers, firing a spark at the flammable experimental concoctions left behind, burning the campsite to cinders.
“We’ll find ourselves a new home, won’t we, Rultuk?â€
The imp emerged from behind a cairn, cackling and playing around in the fire, before scuttling down the path in its master’s tracks, enthusiastically and vocally agreeing to his proposal.