Name: Grimtak
Class: Shaman
Level: 90
Hello! My name is James. I've been roleplaying since the Burning Crusade and have primarily stuck to the Alliance. I've always found that I'm far too picky to choose a single guild, and the time I do invest in any guild ends up short-lived, either due to the group collapsing or the roleplay being butchered by silliness or immaturity. I consider myself to be a reasonable player, and I focus on creating roleplay that is exciting, authentic and real, whilst still maintaining a sense of maturity, realism and accuracy.
- So that was a little story of a young Grimtak in training. My character derives from the Frostwolf Clan, growing and training in shamanistic spiritualism since an early age. As far as significant events, he has stayed clear from most conflict throughout the timeline. I've often played him as a wayfaring Orc with a yearning for knowledge and peace with the elements, a quest that is stricken upon himself for the sake of honor and pride. His lore is pretty dry, but I am confident that this will flesh out once I gain more experience with the faction. Grimtak, all-in-all, is a middle-aged Orc that has left clan life for a lonesome life of isolated training. The spirits in which he communicates with how painted the tales of a fiery life with a bloodthirsty clan of honor and thundering marches. This, of course, leads him (and me!) to this forum.
Thank you for reading, and I hope my earth-born elementalist would find company within the Clan!
Class: Shaman
Level: 90
Hello! My name is James. I've been roleplaying since the Burning Crusade and have primarily stuck to the Alliance. I've always found that I'm far too picky to choose a single guild, and the time I do invest in any guild ends up short-lived, either due to the group collapsing or the roleplay being butchered by silliness or immaturity. I consider myself to be a reasonable player, and I focus on creating roleplay that is exciting, authentic and real, whilst still maintaining a sense of maturity, realism and accuracy.
The Canyon Crawler
The leathery press of earth-bitten feet find dry soil, trudging through like the lumbering steps of a drunken Kodo. Grimtak, the sunderer of Durotar, finds himself trapped. The sun bites down like a hawk upon a mouse, relentless in its scorch and skin-singing pursuit. His eyes find the glare, squinting defiantly toward the blinding glow, as if begging for an hour of rest or mercy. There is none. He presses on, surrounded by what feel like interlocked mountains; these canyons are like mazes. The only life is the monotonous dancing of dust and the rough trail of snakes on their mid-day hunt. Grimtak kneels, dropping into an ever-fading blanket of shade. He sniffs the soil, grounding himself. The earth around his olive-stained husk begins to tremble into Orc-sized walls, creating a makeshift hut of jagged rock and soil.
The situation is bleak, and the canyon would wet its lips before claiming another life within its ravenous maw, if not for a guttural voice husking from above and breaking the desolate silence, the yell is far too high to even be seen by Grimtak's sun-scorched eyes. "You fight it. Why must you fight it? Feel it. Flow with it. You batter your head against it like an infant with a building block. THINK. I'm tired of watching you grovel. Climb up." The bellow of a disappointed tutor horns from the canyon's edge, Surlgog, Grimtak's surly teacher. Grimtak answers in silent beckoning, hanging his head in miserable defeat. Surlgog responds, with no more pity and remorse than the canyon below "I won't be here for long, and I'll be damned if I depart with a failure of a son. You'll survive the trial; I know it." A moment of encouragement that is outlived by an act of duty, the splashing of an ice cold bucket upon the weather-bitten nape of Grimtak. Sleep, practice and an evening of grovelling lies ahead; the sorry life of a shaman in training.
The leathery press of earth-bitten feet find dry soil, trudging through like the lumbering steps of a drunken Kodo. Grimtak, the sunderer of Durotar, finds himself trapped. The sun bites down like a hawk upon a mouse, relentless in its scorch and skin-singing pursuit. His eyes find the glare, squinting defiantly toward the blinding glow, as if begging for an hour of rest or mercy. There is none. He presses on, surrounded by what feel like interlocked mountains; these canyons are like mazes. The only life is the monotonous dancing of dust and the rough trail of snakes on their mid-day hunt. Grimtak kneels, dropping into an ever-fading blanket of shade. He sniffs the soil, grounding himself. The earth around his olive-stained husk begins to tremble into Orc-sized walls, creating a makeshift hut of jagged rock and soil.
The situation is bleak, and the canyon would wet its lips before claiming another life within its ravenous maw, if not for a guttural voice husking from above and breaking the desolate silence, the yell is far too high to even be seen by Grimtak's sun-scorched eyes. "You fight it. Why must you fight it? Feel it. Flow with it. You batter your head against it like an infant with a building block. THINK. I'm tired of watching you grovel. Climb up." The bellow of a disappointed tutor horns from the canyon's edge, Surlgog, Grimtak's surly teacher. Grimtak answers in silent beckoning, hanging his head in miserable defeat. Surlgog responds, with no more pity and remorse than the canyon below "I won't be here for long, and I'll be damned if I depart with a failure of a son. You'll survive the trial; I know it." A moment of encouragement that is outlived by an act of duty, the splashing of an ice cold bucket upon the weather-bitten nape of Grimtak. Sleep, practice and an evening of grovelling lies ahead; the sorry life of a shaman in training.
- So that was a little story of a young Grimtak in training. My character derives from the Frostwolf Clan, growing and training in shamanistic spiritualism since an early age. As far as significant events, he has stayed clear from most conflict throughout the timeline. I've often played him as a wayfaring Orc with a yearning for knowledge and peace with the elements, a quest that is stricken upon himself for the sake of honor and pride. His lore is pretty dry, but I am confident that this will flesh out once I gain more experience with the faction. Grimtak, all-in-all, is a middle-aged Orc that has left clan life for a lonesome life of isolated training. The spirits in which he communicates with how painted the tales of a fiery life with a bloodthirsty clan of honor and thundering marches. This, of course, leads him (and me!) to this forum.
Thank you for reading, and I hope my earth-born elementalist would find company within the Clan!