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Sounds good people! And sure I don't mind being streamed. We'll just have to find a time we're all free to play.

You look like you need a hug.

So me and Rarg have both recently gotten into the Alpha for Heroes of the Storm and we're looking for people to join us playing games!

If you're interested, and have the Alpha, let us know so we can own some fools!

OOC Note: I will be posting the events of Garzag in his quest to make his own item required for the Path of Strength here. This is the first part of the quest.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBltiYFO42c

Garzag gave a small sigh as he looked out over the ruined Highlands; The black spires and the purple essence that ruined the once lush landscape, the defiled sky that had once been pure, and the enemies it now held within it. The Mag’har stalked lowly under the foliage of the area, his information given to him by an old Dragonmaw friend of his had lead him to this area. It was here that was a frequent spot for Drakes. His eyes continually scanned to the sky, which was eerily quiet, on this day there seemed to be no drakes at the minute.

Squinting slightly, the Frostwolf caught glimpse of something in the distance, a torn corpse of one of the local creatures, it seemed fresh, and he knew this was the best opportunity he would have all day.  His hand moved back to the crossbow he had been given, made purely of dark iron, it had only one bolt on it, attached to it was a sturdy linked chain, to keep the two together. The bottom of the crossbow bore two spikes to dig into the ground, and there was also a winding mechanism to draw the bolt back in.

He took in a deep breath as he heard the sound of beating wings above, the shrill cry of a young drake as it swopped through the trees, spiralling round and finally coming to land at the partly devoured corpse. The magnificent beast raised its head and let know that it had laid new claim to this find. Garzag took his time to position himself, hefting the crossbow up and ready, slowly aiming at the hide of the proven creature. It bore many scars on its skin, most seeming to be bite and claw marks, most likely off another black drake competitor. The Orc knew he had to bide his time, as there were not many spots the steel bolt could penetrate on the thick armour of the flying beast. Instead he slowly began to walk through the low bushes, taking extreme care in each step as got to the side of the feasting Drake. After taking another step, all went quiet, and the snapping of twig revealed the location of the Orc to the Drake. In an instant, the beasts flesh filled maw parted, bellowing out flame as Garzag leapt out of the bushes to avoid the dark flames. Taking in a quick breath he shot the bolt from the crossbow, slamming the weapon into the ground so the spikes took hold of the earth without even checking to see if the bolt had landed, only assuming from the angered cry of the Drake that it had done so.

“Ha! Orc, you dare come to face me?!” the Drake bellowed in challenge as it reared up, blood staining its side from where the bolt had penetrated against the softer tissue of its bellow. The beasts wings flapped, sending a gust of wind at the Orc, causing Garzag to be flinged back into one of the many dead trees. The Orc coughed up in a fit of air as he fell to his knees, looking up as the Drake came nearer. Opening its maw to let out another torrent of fire, before it screeched, being yanked sideways as the turning mechanism in the crossbow began. Taking advantage of this Garzag took out his hunting spear, and leapt towards the Drake, giving a roar of his own as the blade dug into the eye of the creature twisting it as the beast howled in pain, snapping its neck back and sending the Mag’har flying off. The Drake now busy trying to claw the spear from its eye began to circle round, tail lashing and clawing at the dirt to stop to the crossbow bolts and chain from pulling him closer. Garzag had landed with a heavy thud, groaning in pain as he slowly pushed himself up, gasping again as the tail snapped like a whip towards him, felling a tree in the process. Snarling, the Orc charged up once more, ducking low at another tail thrash and then propelling himself forward on his back, sliding across the ground as he eventually appeared under the belly of the drake, with a roar he stabbed up several times into the soft flesh of the drakes underside, making sure to rip and tear as he did so. The Drake roared ferociously in pain and anger as the sharp penetrations into its stomachs, rearing up it threw its head down to snort flames onto the ground where the Orc had laid.

From bad eyesight or sheer luck, the blast of searing flames had gone wide, and Garzag had dived away from the creature, quickly assessing the situation. The Drake howled as the chain continued to reel it in towards the crossbow staked into the ground. The black beast was wounded heavily now, a gory mess oozing from its wounded eye socket, and several pieces of flesh hanging from its stomach as blood spilt freely onto the ground below. “You… Orc. You cannot kill me!” the Drake roared in defiance. “You are a noble beast, indeed Drake of the black. But your flight knows only of destruction…” Garzag uttered through gritted teeth. “You will live on in my legacy…” With a battlecry Garzag charged at the bleeding out Drake, raising his spear high and throwing it towards the Drake as gust of wind and flame erupted from the maw of the creature, scorching the side of Garzag’s torso, causing him to growl with pain as he felt the skin sizzle and blister instantly. But he carried on nonetheless and pounced at the beast, vaulting onto its head as he drew a small ceremonial dagger from his waist, riding the neck of the dragon as it swayed to and fro, still being drawn in by the chain. Eventually Garzag got a grip around the beast and lunged the dagger into the already open eye socket, causing the Drake to let out a roar so loud the forest began to shake around the two. But Garzag held, twisting the dagger in the socket, holding on for dear life as the beast spout flames and blood from its maw. A low groan erupted from the Drake, and eventually its movements became less erratic, and spasms followed, the dagger had finally reached the brain, and the beast slumped down. “Curses… Upon you.. Orc.” Were the last words before the beast drew its last breath.

Sliding, exhaustedly off the Drake, Garzag sunk to his knees, a palm resting on the neck of the once mighty beast. He took in deep breaths to steady himself, his adrenaline trying its hardest to block out the burning pain on his side. Forcing his eyes open, the Orc got to work, slicing away the tough hide of the beast took every ounce of energy he didn’t have, but soon he had himself two slices off bloody, black Drake hide, each enough to wrap round his forearms. Eventually resting back on the creature, he whistles for his Wolf, hoping it would bring him back to camp to have his wound treated. But before his companion arrived, the world went black.

Seeing that the orc is still very much alive and breathing the gatekeepers tossed two other trolls inside - prisoners nonetheless, hailing from the Revantusk tribe. The two reluctantly began marching forth, trying to walk around the menacing dire troll to get to Rokh, both wielding spears with sharp ends. As much as one managed to go unnoticed the other one, spotted by the hulk, was immediately caught within the iron grasp of the giant - having caught the torso and the legs of the slave the beast twisted his flesh, ripping the warrior in two, beginning to toy with the intestines in the heat of the moment. As the Destroyer slowly stood up he caught the other attacker lunging at him with his weapon risen high, the harking yell of the Forest Troll echoing within the walls of the pit. Being prepared for the miserable attempt of an attack Rokh snapped the chain again, wrapping it around the Revantusk’s neck, pulling him down, the troll hitting the ground with a thud. As soon as he was lying down the orc mercilessly lift up his own foot to thump his skull down, crushing it beneath his steps - brains and tissues spilling out, eyes popping with the whites oozing from the eyeballs. He then yanked the spear out of his twitching hand, having a sort of advantage over the dire troll for the time being.

Rokh glanced up, eyeing the hulking monstrosity gnawing on the bones of the first fallen contestant, blood dripping from the maw as flesh and bones were crushed between its massive jaws. Using the fact that the troll was dormant for the time being the Destroyer lunged forth, stabbing the beast’s toe, later to rip the toenail away and, using whatever little time he had, stab the soft tissue beneath it with the spear, multiple times, until the tissue was literally shredded to pieces. As he noticed he monstrosity counterattacking with its fist that held the wooden spike he rolled to the side, avoiding what would otherwise be a fatal blow, being bold enough to lash his chain towards the wooden spike in the meantime, pulling hard enough to rip it from the troll’s grip, disarming him in an instant. A bewildered roar escaped the beast’s throat, saliva and blood dripping from its maw as it smashed Rokh to the side, knocking him over, lifting his foot in order to smash him as he lied on the ground with a spear in his hand.

Seeing what seemed to be an inevitable death to some the public gasped, with Yara already in the spot right above the very Arena. She crouched on the very edge of the wall, having her hands resting in between her feet to support herself and balance her body weight, eyes opened wide at what looked like a failure of the indomitable pit fighter. She straightened her back and observed every single second of the battle at hand, the smell of intestines, excrements and blood hit her nostrils.

However the Destroyer had earned his name for a reason - with the spear still in his palm he enhanced his grip on it, holding it closer to the blade so it did not snap in half. With a swift movement of his arm he extended the weapon up, awaiting for the dire beast to press the sole of its foot against it - as soon as it happened he put his entire strength into trying to prevent it from reaching his body, the muscles on his arms popping out, veins accentuated ever so vividly as he slowly pressed against the roaring beast, the hulk not caring about the injuries at this point, the two titans clashed in passive combat. After what seemed to be eternity Rokh managed to get up on one of his knees, piercing the foot of the giant through and through, blood gushing towards his face, covering him from head to toe. As soon as he tasted it he lashed the blade out only to begin to pierce the foot of the troll over and over again, chunks of flesh ripped away from the limb. It did not take long for the hulk to fall to its knees.

The crowd went wild seeing the turnaround of the fight, fists raised high into the air while screaming out loud “Rokh! Rokh! ROKH!”, the chanting neverending. The bested dire troll looked to its foot, seeing the blood spilling onto the ground it roared and attempted to punch the orc, hitting him in the chest - a sound of broken ribs was soon heard, the chest of the orc crushed yet driven by the adrenaline coursing through his veins he did not falter, grasping the fist of the beast. Carried upwards as it went back without the troll realizing the mistake that will cost it his life, Rokh dropped onto the creature’s massive shoulder, wrapping the chain around one of his tusks and pulling it - the enormous tooth fell out for him to catch, breaking away from the dire troll’s jaw. The Destroyer roared on top of his lungs, the fierce, blood-chilling battle cry tearing the ears of the gathered as he grasped the pointy, sharpened tusk and stabbed the eyeball of the dire troll. First left, then right.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The beast fell to the ground while gurgling, chunks of its brain leaking out of its eye sockets, the now two gaping holes in his head becoming fountains of blood, gushing forth as the orc sat astride a top of its neck, continuing to stab its face with his own eyes glaring, teeth bared, grunting following every single thrust until nothing more but a pulp was left from the head of his adversary. The gathering of the Vilebranch went completely silent at this point, not having witnessed such cruelty and prowess in the entire history of the arena.

And there she stood - the blood priestess, alone, now risen from her crouching position, firmly standing on the edge of the stone wall, lips lightly spread as her half-closed eyes looked down at the gory mess in awe and respect, the setting sun barely illuminating the Great City of Jintha’Alor at that time. The silence became a burden no one had the courage to sever, a chime of a broken chain dropped onto the floor and echoed in the valley, the orcish gladiator looked up to the blood-red skies, covered in the sanguine liquid himself. As he lifted his gaze he noticed the lone woman standing above the crowd, their glances meeting for what seemed like a longer while but in truth was mere few seconds. After a while he snarled, completely consumed by his rage, rising the sinew-covered tusk high into the air towards her, letting out a piercing roar of triumph that was quickly followed by the bewildered chanting of the crowd.

She continued to observe Rokh as he visibly waned, the blood loss slowly getting to him as he fell to his knees - back hunched, rhythmically moved by his deep breathing. They looked at each other for a few more moments, though she was sure he would not remember it, the long stare must have been a result of his unending rage. A group of slave masters soon jumped down to subdue him, the exhausted warrior offered no resistance at that point, completely depleted out of his strength, bound into his shackles and thrown back into his cage in no time. It was then when she realized, tightening the grip on her staff, the three elven skulls rattling quietly in the wind. She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes as she basked in the noises of the Pit, thoughts racing within her mind.

- Such power, such strength… - she murmured to herself, opening her eyes as she traced his cage being carried away, Rokh’s hand sticking through the bars, motionless and limp. - I will make sure you are fit to journey in two days. You shall make… a fine offering. - she exhaled softly, grinning from ear to ear, her face becoming more and more sinister with each passing moment. Razakar was just a few yards away, approaching her slowly with his swaggering stride, quite content with how the fight had turned out. She threw him a glance, giving him a nod, the vile smile still present upon her visage as she thought to herself after turning away to catch the sight of the victorious gladiator for one last time before the next day. - You are mine now.

This story is not my own, but I had worked with the writer who had based this on my Orc Gladiator who was a slave to the Forest Trolls. This is the very same person who drew the pictures of my Orcs. With her permission I have been allowed to post it here for you all to read!

Based on Rokh the Mindless: http://www.orcsoftheredblade.com/wiki/index.php?title=Rokh_the_Mindless

- Back already? - a growling voice echoed in the tent, the massive, bulky troll kicking the wooden structure of the shelter, causing him to sway in the hammock he was laying in. - Did the High Priestess dismiss you, or...? - he yawned, opening just one of his red eyes to glance at the female that entered his living space, immediately squinting it at the amount of light that she allowed to spill inside through the entrance.

A low growl responded, the rather short woman denying him the conversation, glaring at him as she closed the canvas of the tent behind her, scoffing while she slowly stepped forth towards her belongings, crouching and slowly sorting them out - as always being in a bad mood after having to walk through the city alone, having heard an insult or two too much. The inside of the tent was highly decorated in beads, bones and skulls, with weaponry scattered all across the floor - mostly throwing axes and daggers with a single staff leaning against one of the spans, three bare skulls stuck on top of it. Only a few last flickering sunrays foreshadowing a sunset managing to find their way inside through the hole in the roof, making the interior rather dim and hard to navigate in.

- The contrary, Razakar. - she replied after a short while, her voice rather low and grumbly at this point. - We are moving out in two days, and with her blessing and order to take a gift for the Warband with us... I suggest you start preparing yourself to leave. - she turned briefly to give him a look of triumph, later to hunch over her belongings scattered in the corner, leaning to the side to grab a leather satchel and, opening it widely, stuffing potion reagents into it.

After having blinked for a few times Razakar sat up, resting his legs on the grassy floor, tilting his head to the side as he observed his sister for a longer while with a frown upon his menacing visage. Being enormous as he was he simply grabbed her shoulder and shook it lightly, trying to get her attention while she was clearly overwhelmed by the innate joy of travelling to Stranglethorn as an emissary of her tribe.

- Don’t forget we have business to do today. - the shaking, as light as it was, made the entire posture of the frail woman tremble under his titanic grip, beads on her neck rattling, eyes widened in surprise. - You promised we will see the fights before we get to leave, it might be our last time... Packing can wait. We have the entire day for it tomorrow.

Yara tried to shake his hand off her shoulder as soon as it hit her, however the skinny woman had no chance at all with an axe-thrower of such size. She simply kept on crouching on the floor, balancing her body weight accordingly on her toes. She sighed quietly and nodded her head, turning her head to look at her brother, her gaze giving away her discomfort as she began to tremble slightly. Razakar recognized that he had hit her boundary of snapping and for sure he invaded her personal space for far too long, quickly pulling his hand away as he stood up, hunching, being too tall for the tent they both shared on the outskirts of the city. He rolled his shoulders, looking at his sister with a smirk, shaking his head as he leaned forth to grab her staff and hold it for her to take - which she reluctantly did after a while, still somewhat startled by his behavior. As she lifted herself up she turned to face the door, muttering more to herself than to anyone else . Without word a she squeezed in between him and the opening of the tent, the elven skulls on her stave rattling as she stepped outside, and so did he, their ears suddenly flooded with the sound of drums.

It was early evening, the sky already turning into a golden red hue - foreshadowing the bloodshed that was about to come. A breeze was blowing lightly all over the Hinterlands with shrunken heads, beads and skulls that were hanging all around the Great City of Jintha'Alor creating a light chime that dwelled in the heads of the gathered Vilebranch, only increasing their excitement about the upcoming events.

As the siblings were wandering through the pathway leading towards the upper level of Jintha’Alor the roaring and yells of excitement grew only louder and stronger, the first skirmishes already beginning to take place, the blood being spilled already in the name of nothing else but sheer entertainment of the tribe. While Razakar was of quite the impressive posture and made his way through the crowd rather easily, like an icebreaker of sorts, raising his palm here and there to greet a friend of his, Yara struggled to make each step, rattling her staff to make sure she is being noticed, giving up after a certain point, deciding to hide behind her brother and use the pathway he makes to her advantage. As he had noticed that he glanced at her over his shoulder with a malevolent smirk, raising a brow.

- Pity you are too old for a piggyback ride… they used to be fun when we were but little pups. - he chuckled as he rolled his shoulders idly, later to look at the entrance to the Pit - We are almost there, there seems not to be enough place close to the arena itself… a shame. - he visibly waned, the sheer thought of missing all the carnage ruining his mood.

The blood priestess frowned, looking around, standing on her toes but still barely seeing a thing. With a huff she rested her palms on her hips, having sheathed her staff on her back beforehand. As she was about to give up and turn back she looked up, having noticed a few crevices in the wall just above the arena with possibly the perfect view on the very Pit. Without ado she pulled Razakar’s arm lightly and stormed off with a rather springy strut towards the wall, beginning to climb - having gathered a few giggles from the crowd here and there, seeing as she was not a good climber at all. As he saw his sister being this bad at something Forest Trolls exceed at, the axe thrower covered his face in a gesture of shame, moving towards her to both give her a helping hand and hurl himself up, the two soon resting comfortably on top of the stone wall.

What they witnessed was indeed marvellous to see - a full view onto the Pit, the wooden spikes, cages and trails of blood so very vivid, all bathed in a devilishly-red sunset with the breeze lightly stroking their mossy skins and red manes, torches being lit up to illuminate the entire area for the crowd to see the bloodshed well. It seemed that one of the fights that had held place prior to their arrival had already concluded itself - the gruesomely mutilated corpse of the fallen warrior was slowly being dragged away, sand was being spilled onto the bloody stains on the floor of the arena. The crowd however rose its fist - hundreds if not a thousand of voices began chanting a name that was at first hard to understand, slowly becoming more clear as the trolls caught the tempo. Yara frowned her brow and was about to ask Razakan about the entire ordeal, not used to the fights as of recent, however her brother began to speak before she managed to utter a single word.

- Ah, I almost forgot… - he began, taking out a pouch filled to the brim with elven ears, beginning to chomp on all the tissue, skin and cartilage, speaking with his mouth full. - You have not been to the Pit for quite a while… there is a new Gladiator in the cages, an orc, stolen from the Revantusk by our troops not too long ago… was it two weeks? I can’t recall… - he pondered, scratching his chin, later to extend the palm holding the pouch with the treats towards Yara, which she gleefully accepted.

- “Destroyer”, is this what the crowd is chanting? - she sighed, gnawing on the rather chewy flesh, spitting away what seemed to be an earring, later to look over her shoulder as she glanced at other trolls following them suit, nesting themselves on top of the wall. - I take it he deserved his name? It is a bold one, so to speak… - she remarked, being rather spiteful.

- He has never lost a fight, woman. - Razakan replied, slightly irritated by her insolence at this point. - Looks like a god of war himself, kills hordes with his bare hands, no warrior has managed to best him in battle. You will love the display, I am sure of it...

Yara shrugged, making little of it as she took out a scrap of paper which seemed to look like a map of the continent, having taken a piece of charcoal she began scribbling a possible route to try to get to Stranglethorn without causing too much of a ruckus. She scratched her cheek, a thin layer of face paint left on her fingers as she tapped them against the parchment, leaving marks. The chanting became louder and louder, soon to turn into a roar that made her blood run faster - “Rokh! Rokh! Rokh!” the crowd’s relentless mantra echoing within the walls of Jintha’Alor, for sure heard in entire Hinterlands at this point. Enthralled and inquisitive she tucked the map behind her belt and stood up, leaning on her staff that she unsheathed, staring into the Pit.

Suddenly, the crowd went completely wild as a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the pit, its posture enormous with muscles bulging underneath its flesh, scars scattered on every inch of the surface of its body. Yara lofted her brow at the sight, clearly impressed already - no comparison to how a dire troll would look like, but still promising and foreshadowing a marvellous fight. She hummed to herself, squinting her reddish eyes trying to see the Destroyer better - the orc was mutilated beyond what she has seen during any other fight, chunks of flesh missing from his face and torso, wearing nothing more but a loincloth and shackles, snarling at the crowd while scowling, humiliated and brainwashed. She almost felt sorry for him, seeing how much of a proud and capable being he must have been before being broken by the slavery and pit fighting - she shook her head to shoo away the thought however, still being sceptical about a warrior with no weapon allowed to even enter the arena, the doubtful privilege being offered only to those who truly deserved to be ripped apart.[/pre]

As the shackles were unlocked from a safe distance the Destroyer roared, his voice echoing above the yells of the public, his name being chanted over and over again until the throats were sore and could speak no more. At that point Razakar slowly stood up with his arms folded upon his massive chest, chin risen high as he judgingly observed the orc, brows slightly furrowed, muscles tense in silent agitation. Yara simply continued to stand by his side, enchanted by the display of raw power and strength already, her eyes locked on the gladiator - slightly squinted with pupils widened, craving to catch every detail of his posture.

The sound of gongs echoed within the walls of Jintha’Alor and another cage - previously hidden beneath rags and flayed skins of other fallen gladiators, an enormous one to that - was hurled into the pit, crashing as soon as it hit the ground. Clouds of ashes and dust rose into the air, obscuring the view of the pit entirely, the crowd going silent for a moment with no one able to distinguish the two contestants, a murmur slowly beginning to emerge from their throats as the silhouettes became more and more vivid, later to turn into savage roars again. As Razakan squinted his eyes to see through the dust he smirked, leaning his head towards Yara while speaking out in a calm manner:

- I believe his glory days are over, sister. No one got to live through what he is about to face. - he uttered, turning his attention back to the arena with a sigh. - A pity. He was a promising gladiator...

The priestess huffed, still unable to determine how many opponents the mighty Destroyer is yet to face - this soon became clear, however, as a mighty fist rose high into the air, almost reaching the inner palisade of the pit as it swung, hitting the ground with a loud thump. A long, deep rumbling roar followed. As the dust began to fall back to the ground an enormous figure emerged from the ashes, twice the size of the orc at least, the maw of the beast filled with sharpened tusks and teeth, salivating profusely. A dire troll, nonetheless, its skin rugged and tattered due to the splinters of the crushed cage penetrating it, the blood already began to drip down his features.

A second gong rang in the ears of the gathered. The harbinger of death and decay, of the bloodshed to come.

The crowd has gone wild yes again, and for good. The battle had begun. At this point Yara could not contain her curiosity and began to swiftly strut along the wall in order to jump above the gate to the other side, closer to the Pit itself, completely ignoring the shouts of her brother calling her. With her head turned towards the pit she continued to run, almost tripping in the haste of it, slowly making her way to the empty space on the other side of the arena.

The hulking menace of a troll, having noticed the orc, roared with its almighty voice and began to move towards him, gaining speed with each step made while holding a wooden stake in its palm alike a club, relentless, aiming to kill, its red eyes stuck to its prey. Seeing that every muscle on the Destroyer’s body flexed, a single chain left from his shackles dangling at his wrist, attached to the cuff. He quickly wrapped it around his forearm, seeking to secure it for the time being. As the dire troll finally lunged forth to shoulder barge Rokh, willing to impale him onto the upper spikes of the arena, the orc feinted, throwing himself to the side, rolling upon his back and immediately lashing the chain forth. He aimed towards the Achilles’ tendon, successfully snapping the heavy iron lash, later to attempt another attack at the beast’s back - however, blinded by rage, the menacing hulk turned around and shuffled the orc away with a single swipe, the Destroyer hitting the wall of the pit with a loud grunt, inches away from the spikes. As his eyes filled with rage Rokh lashed the chain again, willing to wrap it around the beast’s wrist - the width of its limb however was too much for him to handle, and with yet another swing the gladiator was swept away once more, hurled towards the other side of the pit with the crowd chanting his name, a spike making a gash in his thigh, the wound bleeding profusely - yet another trophy to his collection of scars.

Seems to be pretty laggy for me still. Especially the wiki page. Takes a good minute to load. I have a 100mb net. So I guess it's something on the site?

OOC - we need more training in PvP. As I've already spoken about to the Officers of the Guild, which a lot have agreed. It increases our potential both in IC fights against others, and against gankers, as we can't blue shield forever.

IC - More training would be nice to see. I know it's more a of a peaceful time at the minute, but we wouldn't want rusty blades now would we!

This is not my artwork!

Some pictures a dear friend drew for me of two of my Orcs!

So as I mentioned briefly on the OOC channel, I'll be casually on a comic based on my Shaman. Thought I'd post the first cover of the first stage here in the OOC section just to see what people think of it!

Hello there! Just a quick message before I go into the application once more. I am rewriting this due to not being around since 2011. So I thought I had better re-post due to newer people being around. Here is my old application: http://orcsoftheredblade.com/forum/index.php?topic=2787.msg23601#msg23601

Name: Garzag (Ro'Khar) Son of Ro'Khral (Excuse the Ro'Khar areas in the history, it's his actual name. Someone just stole it.)
Class: Shaman
Level: 71 at the current time.


Tell us something about your (role)playing experience: As stated on my old application, I was RP'ing back in Sha'tar at around 2008 with WotLK released. From there I carred on Retail RP up to about 2010 before leaving due to disagreements and seeing some very.. Lollish things. After that I moved to two Private servers to carry out my RP, which were monitored by staff so no such things happened. From there I have RP'ed a bit more casually up until I have no returned to DB. And so I once more write another application.



And finally, please write a short story and/or IC introduction about your character: I shall use the character I will be using until my Shaman arrives, unfortunately I no longer have my Warrior, otherwise I would use him.


Character Full Name: Ro’khar Son of Ro’khral

Character In-Game Name: Rokhar

Nickname(s): Ro, Khar

Association(s): Frostwolf Clan. Warsong, Horde.

Race: Orc

Class: Shaman

Age: Adult

Sex: Male

Hair: Multiple braids.

Eyes: Dull brown.

Weight: 265 kg

Height: 7’00”



Appearance

Khar is often found in his traditional garments. A Frostwolf hide drapes over his broad shoulders, and the head over his own as a hood. The jaw of his deceased Hound has been attached to the hood, and serves as a faceguard for the Orc.


The Orc himself is Mag'har, and tattoos of snow topped mountains, howling wolves and lone Orcs cover his arms and back. He stands at a good height for an Orc, but is hunched slightly like all his kin. His arms and chest boast even wider than a Orc Warrior, the years of surviving in the harsh conditions of the Mountains, his own hide thicker than other Orcs to repel the freezing temperature


His hair is braided, matted with grease, and falling down in locks. One eye is lost to the Orc, the wound looking surprisingly recent as the patch rests over it.



Personality

Ro’khar does not share the lust for war that most other Orcs do. Whilst he has fought in battles, he believes that we must only fight when it is to the best advantage. His lack of warmongering and fighting is replaced by a tactical and strategic mind.


History

Born into the lands of Frostfire, Ro’khar (Hard as Rock) was the son of  Ro'Khral (Eater of Rock) a “Shak’eld Karz’er” (Shield Warrior.) Among the Frostwolf Clan, Ro’khar was raised in a small village in the inhospitable lands of the survivalist Orcs of the Frostwolf. He was trained from an early age to hold a shield in his arm, whilst most bore large weapons or even two weapons at hand. For hours he would stand as his father bore attack after arm breaking attack on the shield of the pup until eventually Ro’khar’s shield was his left arm. Together with his father and a small pack of riders, Ro’khar scoured the lands of Frostfire as exiles to the Horde, speaking out against the corruption that had been brought to the Orcs. More often than not, the traditional pack were set upon by their blood lusted brothers, maddened by Gul’dans unknown treachery.

For years Ro’khar, still holding the traditions close to him, spoke out to the Orcs in villages and on the road, imploring them of the madness that was happening around unbeknownst to them, but most thought him mad and paid no heed, and instead he became hunted by the puppets of Gul’dan. But his father had trained him well, not only with a strong shield, but in the field of battle. Ro’khar and the pack were not trained to fight head on, instead they launched ambushes, flanked attacks, used the very environment against those who hunted them. But even then they were reluctant to kill their tainted kin, who they had known were under a spell of sorts.

Throughout the short time, Ro’khar had lost his father, and most of his group who spoke out against the plague that corrupted his kind, spread by the Orcish leaders. They had been wiped out by Gul’dans hunters. The young Orc eventually found himself back with the Frostwolf as they made their move to the Eastern Kingdoms though was afflicted with a terrible illness in the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms he was quarantined into a small hut where an elderly Shaman tended to him, at his own risk. Here Ro’khar continued his efforts to speak out of the corruption of their kin, imploring the Orcs not to return to their homelands though through the hut many had deemed his mind lost.

Ro’khar had a quiet life for the following years in the hut, learning of the elements, the past wars of his kin, the history of his people and his Clan from the Frostwolf. It was in these years that he confirmed his kind could still be saved.

Two decades on, the venerable and now wise Ro’khar who had survived the red pox witnessed events that would turn the tides of history. Go’el, the lost son had found the Frostwolf once more. For the next years Ro’khar, along with many of his kin broke open their captured kin from the internment camps. Lead by Thrall, they freed their kin from the Humans, and even fought the Legion who had corrupted their kin. Ro’khar himself had found his true calling through the rescues. He would sit at night with veteran Orcs, pouring over plans and strategies to break open the camps. As a strategist, Ro’khar excelled in the ways to break open the camps to free their kin, to ambush the patrols and to wipe out the camps completely.

Together with his kin, Ro’khar helped build the city to found Durotar, but when most of his Frostwolf brothers went back to their homeland. Ro’khar stayed. With his past knowledge of strategy and diplomacy from a pup, he was tasked to Ashenvale; home of the Warsong lumber camps in aid to help their war against the Kaldorei. And to this day Ro’khar has been tasked with arranging small parties, patrols and strategies. Keeping peace between Warbands and offering a much more detailed path of how to deal with the Kaldorei than simply killing them.

Years on, Ro'khar heard the call that his father had once been called upon. The Frostwolf Outriders had been leaderless for a number of years, and with his father dead, Ro'Khar, along with his estranged brother were bound together to lead the once glorious pact. Many of the members had become guards, or fought for the Frostwolves, but with the tactful mind of Ro'khar and the military brute force of his brother, the two regained control of the Frostwolf raiders. And forged them into a deadly force for the Horde.

Throughout Northrend, Ro’Khar, his brother and the riders worked alongside the Warsong Offensive, offering a cavalry unit which the Horde had always lacked. This advantage made the advance into the Tundra increase by leaps and bounds. From fighting the Scourge, to wiping out the Kvaldir. Ro’Khar and his forces fought as a flanking and living battering ram against all. However in an advance where Alliance and Horde met, the ever rightful minded Ro’Khar lost his brother from an estranged rifle amidst the skirmish. The forces were not long after forced to fall back from the heavy volleys from the Alliance. Not a few months later as the Warsong Offensive pushed across the Tundra, Ro’Khar and his riders came against his brother, decayed and decomposing as a mindless ghoul to the Scourge, but still as powerful. For three hours the Shaman fought his undead brother, until in the end he decapitated and burned the corpse. A single tear lost in his furs as he vowed to end the Alliance for what they had done.

Ro’Khar and his ever dwindling riders fought hard throughout the campaign. Ro’Khar himself losing his own Worg which only made him more bitter; Wearing the adorned skull of his trusty companion on his shoulder, along with his father Wolf and his one as a child on his head.  Eventually, along with his forces, he took part in the siege of Icecrown, but his group were isolated and ended up in a three day skirmish against the Frost Vrykul, eventually they were pulled out by the Ogrim’s Hammer.

After hearing of the defeat of the Lich King, Ro’Khar and his men pulled out as soon as they were allowed, fulfilling their oath to help the Horde, but only as soon as they were rested, they were once again at war. Reaching their home Alterac as the world around them fell apart, it was heard that a deal had been struck against the Dragonmaw and the Horde, now their Fel-orc Chief was killed. Once again, the advisor and his troops were sent to the Highlands to aid the Dragonmaw in this newly forged pact. Here, Ro’Khar fought heavily against the Twilight forces, and the Wildhammer clan. Throughout the events of Cataclysm he was in constant battle, and even with the Twilight defeated, he fought against the Wildhammer relentlessly, exacting his vow of destruction for his brother. But after word was heard of his descent of destruction, he was recalled, much to his dismay and that of the Dragonmaw for losing the extra forces.

Years passed once more, and rumours of a new land being found with strange races and dangers presented. Ro’Khar was not sent this time, him and his men recovering as another unit was sent to the lands, but sure enough, eventually Ro’Khar and his troop were carted off to this new mystical land at the news of the Outriders there being slaughtered. In the lower half of Karasang Wilds, Ro’Khar and his troops only action were against the Alliance who were on the other end of the area. A violent battle that saw no more of this new land except from jungle warfare.

As that too drew to an end, news of Garrosh and his corruption came around, and Ro’Khar rallied to his true Warchief, Thrall, a former Frostwolf. Ro’Khar sided with the rebellion with his pack, and fought against the Kor’Kron, buying enough time for the elite groups to infiltrate the city and capture Garrosh.
Now at the end of this war, Ro’Khar has been called upon again. News of a leader using the blood of dragons has come to ears of old Orcs, and they have asked Ro’Khar to dissuade this from happening, and to show this chief that there are other ways to go about things than that of drawing upon the blood of others. Ro’Khar and his pack now come across the Red Blades.

Merely a little photo of Kharmak in his normal clothing and in the background the armour he wore when he was in Northrend, including the helmet claimed from the Vrykul Champion.